My  First  Summer  in  the  Sierra 


-ty  Cap,  with  Vernal  and  Nevada  Fat 


My  First  Summer 
in  the  Sierra- 


By 

John  Muir 

With  Illustrations  from  Drawings 

made  by  the  Author  in  1869 

and  from  Photographs  by 

Herbert  W.  Gleason 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


191  1 


< 

COPYRIGHT,    1911,    BY  JOHN   MUIR 


ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  June 


To 
The  Sierra  Club  of  California 

Faithful  Defender  of 
the  People's  Playgrounds 


Illustrations 


PLATES 

Reproduced  from  photographs  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason, 
several  of  which  were  taken  while  in  the  company  of  the 
author,  who  is  seen  in  the  one  facing  page  216. 

LIBERTY  CAP,  WITH  VERNAL  AND  NEVADA  FALLS         Frontispiece 

WHITE  MARIPOSA  TULIP  (Calochortus  albus)        ...  22 

A  FOREST  BROOK 46 

A  SUGAR  PINE 68 

A  MOUNTAIN  STREAM 11-2 

A  GLACIAL  BOULDER 134 

THUNDER-STORM  OVER  YOSEMITE 166 

FOLIAGE  AND  CONES  OF  SIERRA  HEMLOCK  (Tsuga  Mertensi- 
ana) 204 

MAGNIFICENT  SILVER  FIRS  (MR.  MUIR  IN  FOREGROUND)    .  216 

TUOLUMNE  MEADOW  FROM  CATHEDRAL  PEAK      .       .        .  266 

SIERRA  RANGE  FROM  MONO  CRATER 308 

IN  TUOLUMNE  SEQUOIA  GROVE       .       .     -  .       .       .       .  350 

ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  THE  TEXT 

From  sketches  made  by  the  author  in  1869. 

HORSESHOE  BEND,  MERCED  RIVER 17 

ON  SECOND  BENCH.    EDGE  OF  THE  MAIN  FOREST  BELT, 
ABOVE  COULTERVILLE,  NEAR  GREELEY's  MlLL  .       .       .21 

CAMP,  NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 41 

[  vii  ] 


Illustrations 


MOUNTAIN  LIVE  OAK  (Quercus  chryso/epis),  EIGHT  FEET  IN 

DIAMETER 5© 

SUGAR  PINE 67 

DOUGLAS  SQUIRREL  OBSERVING  BROTHER  MAN     ...  92 

DIVIDE  BETWEEN  THE  TUOLUMNE  AND  THE  MERCED,  BELOW 
HAZEL  GREEN 115 

TRACK  OF  SINGING  DANCING  GRASSHOPPER  IN  THE  AIR 
OVER  NORTH  DOME 186 

ABIES  MAGNIFICA  (MT.  CLARK,  TOP  OF  SOUTH  DOME, 
MT.  STARR  KING) 191 

ILLUSTRATING  GROWTH  OF  NEW  PINE  FROM  BRANCH  BELOW 
THE  BREAK  OF  Axis  OF  SNOW-CRUSHED  TREE  .  .  .  193 

APPROACH  OF  DOME  CREEK  TO  YOSEMITE    ....   201 

JUNIPERS  IN  TENAYA  CANON 221 

VIEW  OF  TENAYA  LAKE  SHOWING  CATHEDRAL  PEAK  .        .263 

ONE  OF  THE  TRIBUTARY  FOUNTAINS  OF  THE  TUOLUMNE 
CANON  WATERS,  ON  THE  NORTH  SIDE  OF  THE  HOFFMAN 
RANGE 265 

GLACIER  MEADOW,  ON  THE  HEADWATERS  OF  THE  TUO- 
LUMNE, 9500  FEET  ABOVE  THE  SEA 274 

MONO  LAKE  AND  VOLCANIC  CONES,  LOOKING  SOUTH  .       .  3 or. 

HIGHEST  MONO  VOLCANIC  CONES  (NEAR  VIEW)    .       .       .  307 

ONE  OF  THE  HIGHEST  MT.  RITTER  FOUNTAINS    .       .       .  323 
GLACIER    MEADOW  STREWN   WITH    MORAINE  BOULDERS, 
10,000  FEET  ABOVE  THE  SEA  (NEAR  MT.  DANA)       .       -333 

FRONT  OF  CATHEDRAL  PEAK 335 

VIEW  OF  UPPER  TUOLUMNE  VALLEY 340 


My  First  Summer  in  the  Sierra 


My  First  Summer  in 
the  Sierra 

1869 

N  the  great  Central  Valley  of 
California  there  are  only  two 
seasons,  —  spring  and  summer. 
The  spring  begins  with  the 
first  rainstorm,  which  usually  falls  in  No- 
vember. In  a  few  months  the  wonderful 
flowery  vegetation  is  in  full  bloom,  and  by 
the  end  of  May  it  is  dead  and  dry  and  crisp, 
as  if  every  plant  had  been  roasted  in  an 
oven. 

Then  the  lolling,  panting  flocks  and  herds 
are  driven  to  the  high,  cool,  green  pastures 
of  the  Sierra.  I  was  longing  for  the  moun- 
tains about  this  time,  but  money  was  scarce 
and  I  could  n't  see  how  a  bread  supply  was 

[3] 


My  First  Summer 

to  be  kept  up.  While  I  was  anxiously  brood- 
ing on  the  bread  problem,  so  troublesome  to 
wanderers,  and  trying  to  believe  that  I  might 
learn  to  live  like  the  wild  animals,  gleaning 
nourishment  here  and  there  from  seeds, 
berries,  etc.,  sauntering  and  climbing  in 
joyful  independence  of  money  or  baggage, 
Mr.  Delaney,  a  sheep-owner,  for  whom  I 
had  worked  a  few  weeks,  called  on  me,  and 
offered  to  engage  me  to  go  with  his  shep- 
herd and  flock  to  the  headwaters  of  the 
Merced  and  Tuolumne  rivers,  —  the  very  re- 
gion I  had  most  in  mind.  I  was  in  the  mood 
to  accept  work  of  any  kind  that  would 
take  me  into  the  mountains  whose  treasures 
I  had  tasted  last  summer  in  the  Yosemite 
region.  The  flock,  he  explained,  would 
be  moved  gradually  higher  through  the 
successive  forest  belts  as  the  snow  melted, 
stopping  for  a  few  weeks  at  the  best  places 
we  came  to.  These  I  thought  would  be 
good  centres  of  observation  from  which  I 
might  be  able  to  make  many  telling  excur- 
[4] 


In  the  Sierra 

sions  within  a  radius  of  eight  or  ten  miles 
of  the  camps  to  learn  something  of  the 
plants,  animals,  and  rocks ;  for  he  assured 
me  that  I  should  be  left  perfectly  free  to 
follow  my  studies.  I  judged,  however,  that 
I  was  in  no  way  the  right  man  for  the  place, 
and  freely  explained  my  shortcomings,  con- 
fessing that  I  was  wholly  unacquainted  with 
the  topography  of  the  upper  mountains, 
the  streams  that  would  have  to  be  crossed, 
and  the  wild  sheep-eating  animals,  etc. ;  in 
short  that,  what  with  bears,  coyotes,  rivers, 
canons,  and  thorny,  bewildering  chaparral,  I 
feared  that  half  or  more  of  his  flock  would 
be  lost.  Fortunately  these  shortcomings 
seemed  insignificant  to  Mr.  Delaney.  The 
main  thing,  he  said,  was  to  have.a  man  about 
the  camp  whom  he  could  trust  to  see  that 
the  shepherd  did  his  duty,  and  he  assured  me 
that  the  difficulties  that  seemed  so  formid- 
able at  a  distance  would  vanish  as  we  went 
on;  encouraging  me  further  by  saying  that 
the  shepherd  would  do  all  the  herding,  that 
[  5  ] 


My  First  Summer 

I  could  study  plants  and  rocks  and  scenery 
as  much  as  I  liked,  and  that  he  would  him- 
self accompany  us  to  the  first  main  camp 
and  make  occasional  visits  to  our  higher 
ones  to  replenish  our  store  of  provisions 
and  see  how  we  prospered.  Therefore  I 
concluded  to  go,  though  still  fearing,  when 
I  saw  the  silly  sheep  bouncing  one  by  one 
through  the  narrow  gate  of  the  home  cor- 
ral to  be  counted,  that  of  the  two  thousand 
and  fifty  many  would  never  return. 

I  was  fortunate  in  getting  a  fine  St.  Ber- 
nard dog  for  a  companion.  His  master,  a 
hunter  with  whom  I  was  slightly  acquaint- 
ed, came  to  me  as  soon  as  he  heard  that  I 
was  going  to  spend  the  summer  in  the  Sierra 
and  begged  me  to  take  his  favorite  dog, 
Carlo,  with  me,  for  he  feared  that  if  he 
were  compelled  to  stay  all  summer  on  the 
plains  the  fierce  heat  might  be  the  death  of 
him.  "  I  think  I  can  trust  you  to  be  kind  to 
him/'  he  said,  "and  I  am  sure  he  will  be 
good  to  you.  He  knows  all  about  the  moun- 
[6] 


In  the  Sierra 

tain  animals,  will  guard  the  camp,  assist  in 
managing  the  sheep,  and  in  every  way  be 
found  able  and  faithful."  Carlo  knew  we 
were  talking  about  him,  watched  our  faces, 
and  listened  so  attentively  that  I  fancied  he 
understood  us.  Calling  him  by  name,  I  asked 
him  if  he  was  willing  to  go  with  me.  He 
looked  me  in  the  face  with  eyes  expressing 
wonderful  intelligence,  then  turned  to  his 
master,  and  after  permission  was  given  by 
a  wave  of  the  hand  toward  me  and  a  fare- 
well patting  caress,  he  quietly  followed  me 
as  if  he  perfectly  understood  all  that  had 
been  said  and  had  known  me  always. 

"June  3, 1 869. — This  morning  provisions, 
camp-kettles,  blankets,  plant-press,  etc.,  were 
packed  on  two  horses,  the  flock  headed  for 
the  tawny  foothills,  ani  away  wre  sauntered 
in  a  cloud  of  dust :  Mr.  Delaney,  bony  and 
tall,  with  sharply  hacked  profile  like  Don 
Quixote,  leading  the  pack-horses,  Billy,  the 
proud  shepherd,  a  Chinaman  and  a  Digger 


My  First  Summer 

Indian  to  assist  in  driving  for  the  first  few 
days  in  the  brushy  foothills,  and  myself  with 
notebook  tied  to  my  belt. 

The  home  ranch  from  which  we  set  out 
is  on  the  south  side  of  the  Tuolumne  River 
near  French  Bar,  where  the  foothills  of 
metamorphic  gold-bearing  slates  dip  below 
the  stratified  deposits  of  the  Central  Valley. 
We  had  not  gone  more  than  a  mile  before 
some  of  the  old  leaders  of  the  flock  showed 
by  the  eager,  inquiring  way  they  ran  and 
looked  ahead  that  they  were  thinking  of 
the  high  pastures  they  had  enjoyed  last  sum- 
mer. Soon  the  whole  flock  seemed  to  be 
hopefully  excited,  the  mothers  calling  their 
lambs,  the  lambs  replying  in  tones  wonder- 
fully human,  their  fondly  quavering  calls  in- 
terrupted now  and  then  by  hastily  snatched 
mouthfuls  of  withered  grass.  Amid  all  this 
seeming  babel  of  baas  as  they  streamed  over 
the  hills  every  mother  and  child  recognized 
each  other's  voice.  In  case  a  tired  lamb, 
half  asleep  in  the  smothering  dust,  should 
[8] 


In  the  Sierra 

fail  to  answer,  its  mother  would  come  run- 
ning back  through  the  flock  toward  the 
spot  whence  its  last  response  was  heard,  and 
refused  to  be  comforted  until  she  found  it, 
the  one  of  a  thousand,  though  to  our  eyes 
and  ears  all  seemed  alike. 

The  flock  traveled  at  the  rate  of  about  a 
mile  an  hour,  outspread  in  the  form  of  an 
irregular  triangle,  about  a  hundred  yards 
wide  at  the  base,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  long,  with  a  crooked,  ever-changing 
point  made  up  of  the  strongest  foragers, 
called  the  "leaders,"  which,  with  the  most 
active  of  those  scattered  along  the  ragged 
sides  of  the  "main  body,"  hastily  explored 
nooks  in  the  rocks  and  bushes  for  grass  and 
leaves;  the  lambs  and  feeble  old  mothers 
dawdling  in  the  rear  were  called  the  "tail 
end." 

About  noon  the  heat  was  hard  to  bear ; 
the  poor  sheep  panted  pitifully  and  tried  to 
stop  in  the  shade  of  every  tree  they  came  to, 
while  we  gazed  with  eager  longing  through 

[9] 


My  First  Summer 

the  dim  burning  glare  toward  the  snowy 
mountains  and  streams,  though  not  one  was 
in  sight.  The  landscape  is  only  wavering 
foothills  roughened  here  and  there  with 
bushes  and  trees  and  out-cropping  masses  of 
slate.  The  trees,  mostly  the  blue  oak  (Quercus 
Doug  fast j), arc  about  thirty  to  forty  feet  high, 
with  pale  blue-green  leaves  and  white  bark, 
sparsely  planted  on  the  thinnest  soil  or  in 
crevices  of  rocks  beyond  the  reach  of  grass 
fires.  The  slates  in  many  places  rise  abruptly 
through  the  tawny  grass  in  sharp  lichen- 
covered  slabs  like  tombstones  in  deserted 
burying-grounds.  With  the  exception  of 
the  oak  and  four  or  five  species  of  manza- 
nita  and  ceanothus,  the  vegetation  of  the 
foothills  is  mostly  the  same  as  that  of  the 
plains.  I  saw  this  region  in  the  early  spring, 
when  it  was  a  charming  landscape  garden 
full  of  birds  and  bees  and  flowers.  Now  the 
scorching  weather  makes  everything  dreary. 
The  ground  is  full  of  cracks,  lizards  glide 
about  on  the  rocks,  and  ants  in  amazing 


In  the  Sierra 

numbers,  whose  tiny  sparks  of  life  only  burn 
the  brighter  with  the  heat,  fairly  quiver 
with  unquenchable  energy  as  they  run  in 
long  lines  to  fight  and  gather  food.  How  it 
comes  that  they  do  not  dry  to  a  crisp  in 
a  few  seconds'  exposure  to  such  sun-fire  is 
marvelous.  A  few  rattlesnakes  lie  coiled  in 
out-of-the-way  places,  but  are  seldom  seen. 
Magpies  and  crows,  usually  so  noisy,  are  silent 
now,  standing  in  mixed  flocks  on  the  ground 
beneath  the  best  shade  trees,  with  bills  wide 
open  and  wings  drooped,  too  breathless  to 
speak;  the  quails  also  are  trying  to  keep  in 
the  shade  about  the  few  tepid  alkaline  water- 
holes;  cottontail  rabbits  are  running  from 
shade  to  shade  among  the  ceanothus  brush, 
and  occasionally  the  long-eared  hare  is  seen 
cantering  gracefully  across  the  wider  open- 
ings. 

After  a  short  noon  rest  in  a  grove,  the 
poor  dust-choked  flock  was  again  driven 
ahead  over  the  brushy  hills,  but  the  dim 
roadway  we  had  been  following  faded  away 


My  First  Summer 

just  where  it  was  most  needed,  compelling 
us  to  stop  to  look  about  us  and  get  our 
bearings.  The  Chinaman  seemed  to  think 
we  were  lost,  and  chattered  in  pidgin  Eng- 
lish concerning  the  abundance  of  "litty 
stick"  (chaparral),  while  the  Indian  silently 
scanned  the  billowy  ridges  and  gulches  for 
openings.  Pushing  through  the  thorny 
jungle,  we  at  length  discovered  a  road  trend- 
ing toward  Coulterville,  which  we  followed 
until  an  hour  before  sunset,  when  we  reached 
a  dry  ranch  and  camped  for  the  night. 

Camping  in  the  foothills  with  a  flock 
of  sheep  is  simple  and  easy,  but  far  from 
pleasant.  The  sheep  were  allowed  to  pick 
what  they  could  find  in  the  neighborhood 
until  after  sunset,  watched  by  the  shepherd, 
while  the  others  gathered  wood,  made  a 
fire,  cooked,  unpacked  and  fed  the  horses, 
etc.  About  dusk  the  weary  sheep  were 
gathered  on  the  highest  open  spot  near 
camp,  where  they  willingly  bunched  close 
together,  and  after  each  mother  had  found 

[    12    ] 


In  the  Sierra 


! 

her  lamb  and  suckled  it,  all  lay  down  and 
required  no  attention  until  morning. 

Supper  was  announced  by  the  call, 
"  Grub !  "  Each  with  a  tin  plate  helped  him- 
self direct  from  the  pots  and  pans  while 
chatting  about  such  camp  studies  as  sheep- 
feed,  mines,  coyotes,  bears,  or  adventures 
during  the  memorable  gold  days  of  pay- 
dirt.  The  Indian  kept  in  the  background, 
saying  never  a  word,  as  if  he  belonged  to 
another  species.  The  meal  finished,  the 
dogs  were  fed,  the  smokers  smoked  by  the 
fire,  and  under  the  influences  of  fullness  and 
tobacco  the  calm  that  settled  on  their  faces 
seemed  almost  divine,  something  like  the 
mellow  meditative  glow  portrayed  on  the 
countenances  of  saints.  Then  suddenly,  as 
if  awakening  from  a  dream,  each  with  a 
sigh  or  a  grunt  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe,  yawned,  gazed  at  the  fire  a  few 
moments,  said,  "Well,  I  believe  I'll  turn 
in,''  and  straightway  vanished  beneath  his 
blankets.  The  fire  smouldered  and  flickered 
[  13  1 


My  Pint  Summer 

an  hour  or  two  longer;  the  stars  shone 
brighter ;  coons,  coyotes,  and  owls  stirred 
the  silence  here  and  there,  while  crickets 
and  hylas  made  a  cheerful,  continuous  mu- 
sic, so  fitting  and  full  that  it  seemed  a  part 
of  the  very  body  of  the  night.  The  only  dis- 
cordance came  from  a  snoring  sleeper,  and 
the  coughing  sheep  with  dust  in  their 
throats.  In  the  starlight  the  flock  looked 
like  a  big  gray  blanket. 

June  4.  —  The  camp  was  astir  at  day- 
break ;  coffee,  bacon,  and  beans  formed  the 
breakfast,  followed  by  quick  dish-washing 
and  packing.  A  general  bleating  began  about 
sunrise.  As  soon  as  a  mother  ewe  arose,  her 
lamb  came  bounding  and  bunting  for  its 
breakfast,  and  after  the  thousand  youngsters 
had  been  suckled  the  flock  began  to  nibble 
and  spread.  The  restless  wethers  with  raven- 
ous appetites  were  the  first  to  move,  but  dared 
not  go  far  from  the  main  body.  Billy  and 
the  Indian  and  the  Chinaman  kept  them 
headed  along  the  weary  road,  and  allowed 


In  the  Sierra 

em  to  pick  up  what  little  they  could  find 
on  a  breadth  of  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 
But  as  several  flocks  had  already  gone  ahead 
of  us,  scarce  a  leaf,  green  or  dry,  was  left ; 
therefore  the  starving  flock  had  to  be  hur- 
ried on  over  the  bare,  hot  hills  to  the  nearest 
of  the  green  pastures,  about  twenty  or  thirty 
miles  from  here. 

The  pack-animals  were  led  by  Don  Quix- 
ote, a  heavy  rifle  over  his  shoulder  intended 
for  bears  and  wolves.  This  day  has  been  as 
hot  and  dusty  as  the  first,  leading  over  gently 
sloping  brown  hills,  with  mostly  the  same 
vegetation,  excepting  the  strange-looking 
Sabine  pine  (Pinus  Sabiniana),  which  here 
forms  small  groves  or  is  scattered  among  the 
blue  oaks.  The  trunk  divides  at  a  height  of  fif- 
teen or  twenty  feet  into  two  or  more  stems, 
outleaning  or  nearly  upright,  with  many 
straggling  branches  and  long  gray  needles, 
casting  but  little  shade.  In  general  appearance 
this  tree  looks  more  like  a  palm  than  a  pine. 
The  cones  are  about  six  or  seven  inches  long, 
[  '5  ] 


My  First  Summer 

about  five  in  diameter,  very  heavy,  and  last 
long  after  they  fall,  so  that  the  ground  be- 
neath the  trees  is  covered  with  them.  They 
make  fine  resiny,  light-giving  camp-fires, 
next  to  ears  of  Indian  corn  the  most  beau- 
tiful fuel  I  've  ever  seen.  The  nuts,  the  Don 
tells  me,  are  gathered  in  large  quantities 
by  the  Digger  Indians  for  food.  They  are 
about  as  large  and  hard-shelled  as  hazel- 
nuts,  —  food  and  fire  fit  for  the  gods  from 
the  same  fruit. 

June  5.  —  This  morning  a  few  hours  after 
setting  out  with  the  crawling  sheep-cloud, 
we  gained  the  summit  of  the  first  well-defined 
bench  on  the  mountain-flank  at  Pino  Blanco. 
The  Sabine  pines  interest  me  greatly.  They 
are  so  airy  and  strangely  palm-like  I  was 
eager  to  sketch  them,  and  was  in  a  fever  of 
excitement  without  accomplishing  much. 
I  managed  to  halt  long  enough,  however,  to 
make  a  tolerably  fair  sketch  of  Pino  Blanco 
peak  from  the  southwest  side,  where  there 
is  a  small  field  and  vineyard  irrigated  by  a 
[  16  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

stream  that  makes  a  pretty  fall  on  its  way 
down  a  gorge  by  the  roadside. 

After  gaming  the  open  summit  of  this  first 
bench,  feeling  the  natural  exhilaration  due 
to  the  slight  elevation  of  a  thousand  feet  or 
so,  and  the  hopes  excited  concerning  the  out- 


HORSESHOE    BEND,    MERCED    RIVER 

look  to  be  obtained,  a  magnificent  section 
of  the  Merced  Valley  at  what  is  called  Horse- 
shoe Bend  came  full  in  sight,  —  a  glorious 
wilderness  that  seemed  to  be  calling  with  a 
thousand  songful  voices.  Bold,  down-sweep- 
ing slopes,  feathered  with  pines  and  clumps 
of  manzanita  with  sunny,  open  spaces  be- 

1 1/] 


My  First  Summer 

tween  them ,  make  up  most  of  the  foreground; 
the  middle  and  background  present  fold 
beyond  fold  of  finely  modeled  hills  and 
ridges  rising  into  mountain-like  masses  in 
the  distance,  all  covered  with  a  shaggy  growth 
of  chaparral,  mostly  adenostoma,  planted  so 
marvelously  close  and  even  that  it  looks 
like  soft,  rich  plush  without  a  single  tree  or 
bare  spot.  As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  it 
extends,  a  heaving,  swelling  sea  of  green  as 
regular  and  continuous  as  that  produced  by 
the  heaths  of  Scotland.  The  sculpture  of  the 
landscape  is  as  striking  in  its  main  lines  as 
in  its  lavish  richness  of  detail;  a  grand  con- 
gregation of  massive  heights  with  the  river 
shining  between,  each  carved  into  smooth, 
graceful  folds  without  leaving  a  single  rocky 
angle  exposed,  as  if  the  delicate  fluting  and 
ridging  fashioned  out  of  metamorphic  slates 
had  been  carefully  sandpapered.  The  wrhole 
landscape  showed  design,  like  man's  noblest 
sculptures.  How  wonderful  the  power  of  its 
beauty!  Gazing  awe-stricken, I  might  have  left 
[  18  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

everything  for  it.  Glad,  endless  work  would 
then  be  mine  tracing  the  forces  that  have 
brought  forth  its  features,  its  rocks  and  plants 
and  animals  and  glorious  weather.  Beauty 
beyond  thought  everywhere,  beneath,  above, 
made  and  being  made  forever.  I  gazed  and 
gazed  and  longed  and  admired  until  the  dusty 
sheep  and  packs  were  far  out  of  sight,  made 
hurried  notes  and  a  sketch,  though  there  was 
no  need  6f  either,  for  the  colors  and  lines 
and  expression  of  this  divine  landscape-coun- 
tenance are  so  burned  into  mind  and  heart 
they  surely  can  never  grow  dim. 

The  evening  of  this  charmed  day  is  cool, 
calm,  cloudless,  and  full  of  a  kind  of  light- 
ning I  have  never  seen  before  —  white  glow- 
ing cloud-shaped  masses  down  among  the 
trees  and  bushes,  like  quick-throbbing  fire- 
flies in  the  Wisconsin  meadows  rather  than 
the  so-called  "  wild  fire/ '  The  spreading  hairs 
of  the  horses'  tails  and  sparks  from  our  blan- 
kets show  how  highly  charged  the  air  is. 

June  6.  — -  We  are  now  on  what  may  be 
[  19] 


My  First  Summer 

called  the  second  bench  or  plateau  of  the 
Range,  after  making  many  small  ups  and 
downs  over  belts  of  hill- waves,  with,  of  course, 
corresponding  changes  in  the  vegetation.  In 
open  spots  many  of  the  lowland  composite 
are  still  to  be  found,  and  some  of  the  Mariposa 
tulips  and  other  conspicuous  members  of  the 
lily  family;  but  the  characteristic  blue  oak 
of  the  foothills  is  left  below,  and  its  place  is 
taken  by  a  fine  large  species  (^uercus  Call- 
fornica}  with  deeply  lobed  deciduous  leaves, 
picturesquely  divided  trunk,  and  broad,  massy, 
finely  lobed  and  modeled  head.  Here  also  at 
a  height  of  about  twenty-five  hundred  feet 
we  come  to  the  edge  of  the  great  coniferous 
forest,  made  up  mostly  of  yellow  pine  with 
just  a  few  sugar  pines.  We  are  now  in  the 
mountains  and  they  are  in  us,  kindling  en- 
thusiasm, making  every  nerve  quiver,  filling 
every  pore  and  cell  of  us.  Our  flesh-and-bone 
tabernacle  seems  transparent  as  glass  to  the 
beauty  about  us,  as  if  truly  an  inseparable  part 
of  it,  thrilling  with  the  air  and  trees,  streams 

[   20] 


In  the  Sierra 

and  rocks,  in  the  waves  of  the  sun,  — a  part 
of  all  nature,  neither  old  nor  young,  sick  nor 
well,  but  immortal.  Just  now  I  can  hardly 
conceive  of  any  bodily  condition  dependent 
on  food  or  breath  any  more  than  the  ground 


ON    SECOND    BENCH.     EDGE    OF    THE  MAIN  FOREST  BELT, 
ABOVE    COULTERVILLE,    NEAR    GREELEY's    MILL 

or  the  sky.  How  glorious  a  conversion,  so 
complete  and  wholesome  it  is,  scarce  mem- 
ory enough  of  old  bondage  days  left  as  a 
standpoint  to  view  it  from  !  In  this  newness 
of  life  we  seem  to  have  been  so  always. 

[    21    ] 


My  First  Summer 

Through  a  meadow  opening  in  the  pine 
woods  I  see  snowy  peaks  about  the  head- 
waters of  the  Merced  above  Yosemite.  How 
near  they  seem  and  how  clear  their  outlines 
on  the  blue  air,  or  rather  in  the  blue  air ;  for 
they  seem  to  be  saturated  with  it.  How  con- 
suming strong  the  invitation  they  extend! 
Shall  I  be  allowed  to  go  to  them  ?  Night  and 
day  I  '11  pray  that  I  may,  but  it  seems  too 
good  to  be  true.  Some  one  worthy  will  go, 
able  for  the  Godful  work,  yet  as  far  as  I 
can  I  must  drift  about  these  love-monument 
mountains,  glad  to  be  a  servant  of  servants 
in  so  holy  a  wilderness. 

Found  a  lovely  lily  (Calochortus  albus}  in 
a  shady  adenostoma  thicket  near  Coulter- 
ville,  in  company  with  Adiantum  Chilense. 
It  is  white  with  a  faint  purplish  tinge  in- 
side at  the  base  of  the  petals,  a  most  im- 
pressive plant,  pure  as  a  snow  crystal,  one  of 
the  plant  saints  that  all  must  love  and  be 
made  so  much  the  purer  by  it  every  time 
it  is  seen.  It  puts  the  roughest  mountaineer 

[22] 


White  Mariposa  Tulip  (Calorcbortus  alb  us) 


In  the  Sierra 

on  his  good  behavior.  With  this  plant  the 
whole  world  would  seem  rich  though  none 
other  existed.  It  is  not  easy  to  keep  on  with 
the  camp  cloud  while  such  plant  people  are 
standing  preaching  by  the  wayside. 

During  the  afternoon  we  passed  a  fine 
meadow  bounded  by  stately  pines,  mostly  the 
arrowy  yellow  pine,  with  here  and  there  a 
noble  sugar  pine,  its  feathery  arms  outspread 
above  the  spires  of  its  companion  species  in 
marked  contrast ;  a  glorious  tree,  its  cones 
fifteen  to  twenty  inches  long,  swinging  like 
tassels  at  the  ends  of  the  branches  with  su- 
perb ornamental  effect.  Saw  some  logs  of 
this  species  at  the  Greeley  Mill.  They  are 
round  and  regular  as  if  turned  in  a  lathe, 
excepting  the  butt  cuts,  which  have  a  few 
buttressing  projections.  The  fragrance  of 
the  sugary  sap  is  delicious  and  scents  the 
mill  and  lumber  yard.  How  beautiful  the 
ground  beneath  this  pine  thickly  strewn  with 
slender  needles  and  grand  cones,  and  the 
piles  of  cone-scales,  seed-wings  and  shells 
[  23  ] 


My  First  Summer 

around  the  instep  of  each  tree  where  the 
squirrels  have  been  feasting  !  They  get  the 
seeds  by  cutting  off  the  scales  at  the  base  in 
regular  order,  following  their  spiral  arrange- 
ment, and  the  two  seeds  at  the  base  of  each 
scale,  a  hundred  or  two  in  a  cone,  must 
make  a  good  meal.  The  yellow  pine  cones 
and  those  of  most  other  species  and  genera 
are  held  upside  down  on  the  ground  by  the 
Douglas  squirrel,  and  turned  around  gradu- 
ally until  stripped,  while  he  sits  usually 
with  his  back  to  a  tree,  probably  for  safety. 
Strange  to  say,  he  never  seems  to  get  him- 
self smeared  with  gum,  not  even  his  paws 
or  whiskers,  —  and  how  cleanly  and  beauti- 
ful in  color  the  cone-litter  kitchen-middens 
he  makes. 

We  are  now  approaching  the  region  of 
clouds  and  cool  streams.  Magnificent  white 
cumuli  appeared  about  noon  above  the  Yo- 
semite  region,  —  floating  fountains  refresh- 
ing the  glorious  wilderness,  —  sky  moun- 
tains in  whose  pearly  hills  and  dales  the 

[24] 


In  the  Sierra 

streams  take  their  rise, — blessing  with  cool- 
ing shadows  and  rain.  No  rock  landscape 
is  more  varied  in  sculpture,  none  more 
delicately  modeled  than  these  landscapes  of 
the  sky ;  domes  and  peaks  rising,  swelling, 
white  as  finest  marble  and  firmly  outlined, 
a  most  impressive  manifestation  of  world 
building.'  Every  rain-cloud,  however  fleet- 
ing, leaves  its  mark,  not  only  on  trees  and 
flowers  whose  pulses  are  quickened,  and  on 
the  replenished  streams  and  lakes,  but  also 
on  the  rocks  are  its  marks  engraved  whether 
we  can  see  them  or  not. 

I  have  been  examining  the  curious  and 
influential  shrub  Adenostomafasciculata,  first 
noticed  about  Horseshoe  Bend.  It  is  very 
abundant  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  second 
plateau  near  Coulterville,  forming  a  dense, 
almost  impenetrable  growth  that  looks  dark 
in  the  distance.  It  belongs  to  the  rose  fam- 
ily, is  about  six  or  eight  feet  high,  has  small 
white  flowers  in  racemes  eight  to  twelve 
inches  long,  round  needle-like  leaves,  and 
[25  ] 


My  First  Summer 

reddish  bark  that  becomes  shreddy  when  old. 
It  grows  on  sun-beaten  slopes,  and  like  grass 
is  often  swept  away  by  running  fires,  but  is 
quickly  renewed  from  the  roots.  Any  trees 
that  may  have  established  themselves  in  its 
midst  are  at  length  killed  by  these  fires,  and 
this  no  doubt  is  the  secret  of  the  unbroken 
character  of  its  broad  belts.  A  few  man- 
zanitas,  which  also  rise  again  from  the  root 
after  consuming  fires,  make  out  to  dwell 
with  it,  also  a  few  bush  composite,  - 
baccharis  and  linosyris,  and  some  liliaceous 
plants,  mostly  calochortus  and  brodiasa,  with 
deepset  bulbs  safe  from  fire.  A  multitude  of 
birds  and  "  wee,  sleekit,  cow'rin',  tim'rous 
beasties"  find  good  homes  in  its  deepest 
thickets,  and  the  open  bays  and  lanes  that 
fringe  the  margins  of  its  main  belts  offer 
shelter  and  food  to  the  deer  when  winter 
storms  drive  them  down  from  their  high 
mountain  pastures.  A  most  admirable  plant ! 
It  is  now  in  bloom,  and  I  like  to  wear  its 
pretty  fragrant  racemes  in  my  buttonhole. 
[  26] 


In  the  Sierra 

Azalea  accident  alls,  another  charming 
shrub,  grows  beside  cool  streams  hereabouts 
and  much  higher  in  the  Yosemite  region. 
We  found  it  this  evening  in  bloom  a  few 
miles  above  Greeley's  Mill,  where  we  are 
camped  for  the  night.  It  is  closely  related 
to  the  rhododendrons,  is  very  showy  and  fra- 
grant, and  everybody  must  like  it  not  only 
for  itself  but  for  the  shady  alders  and  wil- 
lows, ferny  meadows,  and  living  water  asso- 
ciated with  it. 

Another  conifer  was  met  to-day, —  in- 
cense cedar  (Libocedrus  decurrens},  a  large 
tree  with  warm  yellow-green  foliage  in  flat 
plumes  like  those  of  arborvitae,  bark  cinna- 
mon-colored, and  as  the  boles  of  the  old 
trees  are  without  limbs  they  make  striking 
pillars  in  the  woods  where  the  sun  chances 
to  shine  on  them,  —  a  worthy  companion 
of  the  kingly  sugar  and  yellow  pines.  I  feel 
strangely  attracted  to  this  tree.  The  brown 
close-grained  wood,  as  well  as  the  small 
scale-like  leaves,  is  fragrant,  and  the  flat  over- 
[27] 


My  First  Summer 

lapping  plumes  make  fine  beds,  and  must 
shed  the  rain  well.  It  would  be  delightful 
to  be  storm-bound  beneath  one  of  these 
noble,  hospitable,  inviting  old  trees,  its  broad 
sheltering  arms  bent  down  like  a  tent,  in- 
cense rising  from  the  fire  made  from  its  dry 
fallen  branches,  and  a  hearty  wind  chanting 
overhead.  But  the  weather  is  calm  to-night, 
and  our  camp  is  only  a  sheep  camp.  We  are 
near  the  North  Fork  of  the  Merced.  The 
night  wind  is  telling  the  wonders  of  the 
upper  mountains,  their  snow  fountains  and 
gardens,  forests  and  groves;  even  their  to- 
pography is  in  its  tones.  And  the  stars,  the 
everlasting  sky  lilies,  how  bright  they  are 
now  that  we  have  climbed  above  the  low- 
land dust !  The  horizon  is  bounded  and 
adorned  by  a  spiry  wall  of  pines,  every  tree 
harmoniously  related  to  every  other;  defi- 
nite symbols,  divine  hieroglyphics  written 
with  sunbeams.  Would  I  could  understand 
them  !  The  stream  flowing  past  the  camp 
through  ferns  and  lilies  and  alders  makes 
[  28  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

sweet  music  to  the  ear,  but  the  pines  mar- 
shaled around  the  edge  of  the  sky  make  a 
yet  sweeter  music  to  the  eye.  Divine  beauty 
all.  Here  I  could  stay  tethered  forever  with 
just  bread  and  water,  nor  would  I  be  lonely  ; 
loved  friends  and  neighbors,  as  love  for  every- 
thing increased,  would  seem  all  the  nearer 
however  many  the  miles  and  mountains 
between  us.  • 

June  7.  —  The  sheep  were  sick  last  night, 
and  many  of  them  are  still  far  from  well, 
hardly  able  to  leave  camp,  coughing,  groan- 
ing, looking  wretched  and  pitiful,  all  from 
eating  the  leaves  of  the  blessed  azalea.  So 
at  least  say  the  shepherd  and  the  Don. 
Having  had  but  little  grass  since  they  left 
the  plains,  they  are  starving,  and  so  eat  any- 
thing green  they  can  get.  "Sheep  men"  call 
azalea  "  sheep-poison,"  and  wonder  what 
the  Creator  was  thinking  about  when  he 
made  it,  —  so  desperately  does  sheep  busi- 
ness blind  and  degrade,  though  supposed  to 
have  a  refining  influence  in  the  good  old 
[  29  ] 


My  First  Summer 

days  we  read  of.  The  California  sheep- 
owner  is  in  haste  to  get  rich,  and  often  does, 
now  that  pasturage  costs  nothing,  while  the 
climate  is  so  favorable  that  no  winter  food 
supply,  shelter-pens,  or  barns  are  required. 
Therefore  large  flocks  may  be  kept  at  slight 
expense,  and  large  profits  realized,  the  money 
invested  doubling,  it  is  claimed,  every  other 
year.  This  quickly  acquired  wealth  usually 
creates  desire  for  more.  Then  indeed  the 
wool  is  drawn  close  down  over  the  poor 
fellow's  eyes,  dimming  or  shutting  out  al- 
most everything  worth  seeing. 

As  for  the  shepherd,  his  case  is  still  worse, 
especially  in  winter  when  he  lives  alone  in 
a  cabin.  For,  though  stimulated  at  times  by 
hopes  of  one  day  owning  a  flock  and  getting 
rich  like  his  boss,  he  at  the  same  time  is 
likely  to  be  degraded  by  the  life  he  leads,  and 
seldom  reaches  the  dignity  or  advantage  - 
or  disadvantage — of  ownership.  The  degra- 
dation in  his  case  has  for  cause  one  not  far 
to  seek.  He  is  solitary  most  of  the  year,  and 
[  30  ] 


In  the  Sierra 


solitude  to  most  people  seems  hard  to  bear. 
He  seldom  has  much  good  mental  work  or 
recreation  in  the  way  of  books.  Coming 
into  his  dingy  hovel-cabin  at  night,  stupidly 
weary,  he  finds  nothing  to  balance  and  level 
his  life  with  the  universe.  No,  after  his  dull 
drag  all  day  after  the  sheep,  he  must  get  his 
supper;  he  is  likely  to  slight  this  task  and 
try  to  satisfy  his  hunger  with  whatever 
comes  handy.  Perhaps  no  bread  is  baked; 
then  he  just  makes  a  few  grimy  flapjacks  in 
his  unwashed  frying-pan,  boils  a  handful  of 
tea,  and  perhaps  fries  a  few  strips  of  rusty 
bacon.  Usually  there  are  dried  peaches  or 
apples  in  the  cabin,  but  he  hates  to  be  both- 
ered with  the  cooking  of  them,  just  swal- 
lows the  bacon  and  flapjacks,  and  depends 
on  the  genial  stupefaction  of  tobacco  for  the 
rest.  Then  to  bed,-  often  without  removing 
the  clothing  worn  during  the  day.  Of  course 
his  health  suffers,  reacting  on  his  mind  ;  and 
seeing  nobody  for  weeks  or  months,  he 
finally  becomes  semi-insane  or  wholly  so. 


My  First  Summer 

The  shepherd  in  Scotland  seldom  thinks 
of  being  anything  but  a  shepherd.  He  has 
probably  descended  from  a  race  of  shep- 
herds and  inherited  a  love  and  aptitude  for 
the  business  almost  as  marked  as  that  of  his 
collie.  He  has  but  a  small  flock  to  look 
after,  sees  his  family  and  neighbors,  has 
time  for  reading  in  fine  weather,  and  often 
carries  books  to  the  fields  with  which  he 
may  converse  with  kings.  The  oriental 
shepherd,  we  read,  called  his  sheep  by 
name;  they  knew  his  voice  and  followed 
him.  The  flocks  must  have  been  small  and 
easily  managed,  allowing  piping  on  the 
hills  and  ample  leisure  for  reading  and 
thinking.  But  whatever  the  blessings  of 
sheep-culture  in  other  times  and  countries, 
the  California  shepherd,  as  far  as  I  've  seen 
or  heard,  is  never  quite  sane  for  any  con- 
siderable time.  Of  all  Nature's  voices  baa 
is  about  all  he  hears.  Even  the  howls  and 
ki-yis  of  coyotes  might  be  blessings  if  well 
heard,  but  he  hears  them  only  through  a 
[  32] 


In  the  Sierra 


blur  of  mutton  and  wool,  and  they  do  him 
no  good. 

The  sick  sheep  are  getting  well,  and  the 
shepherd  is  discoursing  on  the  various  poi- 
sons lurking  in  these  high  pastures  —  azalea, 
kalmia,  alkali.  After  crossing  the  North 
Fork  of  the  Merced  we  turned  to  the  left 
toward  Pilot  Peak,  and  made  a  considerable 
ascent  on  a  rocky,  brush-covered  ridge  to 
Brown's  Elat,  where  for  the  first  time  since 
leaving  the  plains  the  flock  is  enjoying  plenty 
of  green  grass.  Mr.  Delaney  intends  to  seek 
a  permanent  camp  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, to  last  several  weeks. 

Before  noon  we  passed  Bower  Cave,  a 
delightful  marble  palace,  not  dark  and  drip- 
ping, but  filled  with  sunshine,  which  pours 
into  it  through  its  wide-open  mouth  facing 
the  south.  It  has  a  fine,  deep,  clear  little  lake 
with  mossy  banks  embowered  with  broad- 
leaved  maples,  all  under  ground,  wholly 
unlike  anything  I  have  seen  in  the  cave 
line  even  in  Kentucky,  where  a  large  part 
[33  ] 


•My  First  Summer 

of  the  state  is  honeycombed  with  caves. 
This  curious  specimen  of  subterranean  scen- 
ery is  located  on  a  belt  of  marble  that  is 
said  to  extend  from  the  north  end  of  the 
Range  to  the  extreme  south.  Many  other 
caves  occur  on  the  belt,  but  none  like  this, 
as  far  as  I  have  learned,  combining  as  it  does 
sunny  outdoor  brightness  and  vegetation  with 
the  crystalline  beauty  of  the  under-world. 
It  is  claimed  by  a  Frenchman,  who  has 
fenced  and  locked  it,  placed  a  boat  on  the 
lakelet  and  seats  on  the  mossy  bank  under 
the  maple  trees,  and  charges  a  dollar  admis- 
sion fee.  Being  on  one  of  the  ways  to  the 
Yosemite  Valley,  a  good  many  tourists  visit 
it  during  the  travel  months  of  summer,  re- 
garding it  as  an  interesting  addition  to  their 
Yosemite  wonders. 

Poison  oak  or  poison  ivy  ( Rhus  diversiloba}, 
both  as  a  bush  and  a  scrambler  up  trees  and 
rocks,  is  common  throughout  the  foothill  re- 
gion up  to  a  height  of  at  least  three  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea.  It  is  somewhat  trouble- 
[  34  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

some  to  most  travelers,  inflaming  the  skin 
and  eyes,  but  blends  harmoniously  with  its 
companion  plants,  and  many  a  charming 
flower  leans  confidingly  upon  it  for  protec- 
tion and  shade.  I  have  oftentimes  found  the 
curious  twining  lily  (Stropholirion  Callforni- 
curri}  climbing  its  branches,  showing  no  fear 
but  rather  congenial  companionship.  Sheep 
eat  it  without  apparent  ill  effects ;  so  do 
horses  to  some  extent,  though  not  fond  of 
it,  and  to  many  persons  it  is  harmless.  Like 
most  other  things  not  apparently  useful  to 
man,  it  has  few  friends,  and  the  blind  ques- 
tion, "Why  was  it  made?"  goes  on  and  on 
with  never  a  guess  that  first  of  all  it  might 
have  been  made  for  itself. 

Brown's  Flat  is  a  shallow  fertile  valley  on 
the  top  of  the  divide  between  the  North  Fork 
of  the  Merced  and  Bull  Creek,  commanding 
magnificent  views  in  every  direction.  Here 
the  adventurous  pioneer  David  Brown  made 
his  headquarters  for  many  years,  dividing  his 
time  between  gold-hunting  and  bear-hunt- 

[35] 


My  First  Summer 

ing.  Where  could  lonely  hunter  find  a  better 
solitude  ?  Game  in  the  woods,  gold  in  the 
rocks,  health  and  exhilaration  in  the  air, 
while  the  colors  and  cloud  furniture  of  the 
sky  are  ever  inspiring  through  all  sorts  of 
weather.  Though  sternly  practical,  like  most 
pioneers,  old  David  seems  to  have  been  un- 
commonly fond  of  scenery.  Mr.  Delaney, 
who  knew  him  well,  tells  me  that  he  dearly 
loved  to  climb  to  the  summit  of  a  command- 
ing ridge  to  gaze  abroad  over  the  forest  to  the 
snow-clad  peaks  and  sources  of  the  rivers,  and 
over  the  foreground  valleys  and  gulches  to 
note  where  miners  were  at  work  or  claims 
were  abandoned, Judging  by  smoke  from 
cabins  and  camp-fires,  the  sounds  of  axes, 
etc. ;  and  when  a  rifle-shot  was  heard,  to  guess 
who  was  the  hunter,  whether  Indian  or  some 
poacher  on  his  wide  domain.  His  dog  Sandy 
accompanied  him  everywhere,  and  well  the 
little  hairy  mountaineer  knew  and  loved  his 
master  and  his  master's  aims.  In  deer-hunt- 
ing he  had  but  little  to  do,  trotting  behind 
[36] 


In  the  Sierra 

his  master  as  he  slowly  made  his  way  through 
the  wood,  careful  not  to  step  heavily  on  dry 
twigs,  scanning  open  spots  in  the  chaparral, 
where  the  game  loves  to  feed  in  the  early 
morning  and  towards  sunset ;  peering  cau- 
tiously over  ridges  as  new  outlooks  were 
reached,  and  along  the  meadowy  borders  of 
streams.  But  when  bears  were  hunted,  little 
Sandy  became  more  important,  and  it  was  as 
a  bear-hunter  that  Brown  became  famous. 
His  hunting  method,  as  described  by  Mr. 
Delaney,  who  had  passed  many  a  night  with 
him  in  his  lonely  cabin  and  learned  his 
stories,  was  simply  to  go  slowly  and  silently 
through  the  best  bear  pastures,  with  his  dog 
and  rifle  and  a  few  pounds  of  flour,  until  he 
found  a  fresh  track  and  then  follow  it  to  the 
death,  paying  no  heed  to  the  time  required. 
Wherever  the  bear  went  he  followed,  led  by 
little  Sandy,  who  had  a  keen  nose  and  never 
lost  the  track,  however  rocky  the  ground. 
When  high  open  points  were  reached,  the 
likeliest  places  were  carefully  scanned.  The 
[  37] 


My  First  Summer 

time  of  year  enabled  the  hunter  to  determine 
approximately  where  the  bear  would-  be 
found, — in  the  spring  and  early  summer  on 
open  spots  about  the  banks  of  streams  and 
springy  places  eating  grass  and  clover  and 
lupines,  or  in  dry  meadows  feasting  on  straw- 
berries ;  toward  the  end  of  summer,  on  dry 
ridges,  feasting  on  manzanita  berries,  sitting 
on  his  haunches,  pulling  down  the  laden 
branches  with  his  paws,  and  pressing  them 
together  so  as  to  get  good  compact  mouth- 
fuls  however  much  mixed  with  twigs  and 
leaves;  in  the  Indian  summer,  beneath  the 
pines,  chewing  the  cones  cut  off  by  the  squir- 
rels, or  occasionally  climbing  a  tree  to  gnaw 
and  break  off  the  fruitful  branches.  In  late 
autumn,  when  acorns  are  ripe,  Bruin's  favor- 
ite feeding-grounds  are  groves  of  the  Cali- 
fornia oak  in  park-like  canon  flats.  Always 
the  cunning  hunter  knew  where  to  look,  and 
seldom  came  upon  Bruin  unawares.  When 
the  hot  scent  showed  the  dangerous  game 
was  nigh,  a  long  halt  was  made,  and  the  in- 
[  38  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

tricacies  of  the  topography  and  vegetation 
leisurely  scanned  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
shaggy  wanderer,  or  to  at  least  determine 
where  he  was  most  likely  to  be. 

"Whenever,"  said  the  hunter,  "I  saw  a 
bear  before  it  saw  me  I  had  no  trouble  in 
killing  it.  I  just  studied  the  lay  of  the  land 
and  got  to  leeward  of  it  no  matter  how  far 
around  I  had  to  go,  and  then  worked  up  to 
within  a  few  hundred  yards  or  so,  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree  that  I  could  easily  climb,  but  too 
small  for  the  bear  to  climb.  Then  I  looked 
well  to  the  condition  of  my  rifle,  took  off 
my  boots  so  as  to  climb  well  if  necessary, 
and  waited  until  the  bear  turned  its  side  in 
clear  view  when  I  could  make  a  sure  or  at 
least  a  good  shot.  In  case  it  showed  fight  I 
climbed  out  of  reach.  But  bears  are  slow 
and  awkward  with  their  eyes,  and  being  to 
leeward  of  them  they  could  not  scent  me, 
and  I  often  got  in  a  second  shot  before  they 
noticed  the  smoke.  Usually,  however,  they 
run  when  wounded  and  hide  in  the  brush. 
[  39  ] 


My  First  Summer 

I  let  them  run  a  good  safe  time  before  I 
ventured  to  follow  them,  and  Sandy  was 
pretty  sure  tofind  them  dead.  If  not,  he  barked 
and  drew  their  attention,  and  occasionally 
rushed  in  for  a  distracting  bite,  so  that  I 
was  able  to  get  to  a  safe  distance  for  a  final 
shot.  Oh  yes,  bear-hunting  is  safe  enough 
when  followed  in  a  safe  way,  though  like 
every  other  business  it  has  its  accidents,  and 
little  doggie  and  I  have  had  some  close 
calls.  Bears  like  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of 
men  as  a  general  thing,  but  if  an  old,  lean, 
hungry  mother  with  cubs  met  a  man  on  her 
own  ground  she  would,  in  my  opinion,  try 
to  catch  and  eat  him.  This  would  be  only 
fair  play  anyhow,  for  we  eat  them,  but  no- 
body hereabout  has  been  used  for  bear  grub 
that  I  know  of." 

Brown  had  left  his  mountain  home  ere 
we  arrived,  but  a  considerable  number  of 
Digger  Indians  still  linger  in  their  cedar- 
bark  huts  on  the  edge  of  the  flat.  They  were 
attracted  in  the  first  place  by  the  white 
[40] 


In  the  Sierra 


hunter  whom  they  had  learned  to  respect, 
and  to  whom  they  looked  for  guidance  and 
protection  against  their  enemies  the  Pah 
Utes,  who  sometimes  made  raids  across  from 
the  east  side  of  the  Range  to  plunder  the 

tores  of  the  comparatively  feeble  Diggers 

nd  steal  their  wives. 


CAMP,  NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

'June  8.  —  The  sheep,  now  grassy  and 
good  natured,  slowly  nibbled  their  way 
down  into  the  valley  of  the  North  Fork  of 
the  Merced  at  the  foot  of  Pilot  Peak  Ridge 
to  the  place  selected  by  the  Don  for  our 
first  central  camp,  a  picturesque  hopper- 


My  First  Summer 

shaped  hollow  formed  by  converging  hill- 
slopes  at  a  bend  of  the  river.  Here  racks 
for  dishes  and  provisions  were  made  in  the 
shade  of  the  river-bank  trees,  and  beds  of 
fern  fronds,  cedar  plumes,  and  various  flowers, 
each  to  the  taste  of  its  owner,  and  a  corral 
back  on  the  open  flat  for  the  wool. 

June  9. —  How  deep  our  sleep  last  night 
in  the  mountain's  heart,  beneath  the  trees 
and  stars,  hushed  by  solemn-sounding  water- 
falls and  many  small  soothing  voices  in 
sweet  accord  whispering  peace!  And  our 
first  pure  mountain  day,  warm,  calm,  cloud- 
less, —  how  immeasurable  it  seems,  how 
serenely  wild !  I  can  scarcely  remember  its 
beginning.  Along  the  river,  over  the  hills, 
in  the  ground,  in  the  sky,  spring  work  is 
going  on  with  joyful  enthusiasm,  new  life, 
new  beauty,  unfolding,  unrolling  in  glori- 
ous exuberant  extravagance,  —  new  birds  in 
their  nests,  new  winged  creatures  in  the 
air,  and  new  leaves,  new  flowers,  spreading, 
shining,  rejoicing  everywhere. 
t-42] 


In  the  Sierra 


The  trees  about  the  camp  stand  close,  giv- 
ing ample  shade  for  ferns  and  lilies,  while 
back  from  the  bank  most  of  the  sunshine 
reaches  the  ground,  calling  up  the  grasses 
and  flowers  in  glorious  array,  tall  bromus 

aving    like    bamboos,   starry   composite, 

onardella,  Mariposa  tulips,  lupines,  gilias, 
violets,  glad  children  of  light.  Soon  every 
"ern  frond  will  be  unrolled,  great  beds  of 
ommon  pteris  and  woodwardia  along  the 
river,  wreaths  and  rosettes  of  pellaea  and 
cheilanthes  on  sunny  rocks.  Some  of  the 
woodwardia  fronds  are  already  six  feet 
high. 

A  handsome  little  shrub,  Chamcebatia  fo- 
liolosa,  belonging  to  the  rose  family,  spreads 
a  yellow-green  mantle  beneath  the  sugar 
pines  for  miles  without  a  break,  not  mixed 
or  roughened  with  other  plants.  Only  here 
and  there  a  Washington  lily  may  be  seen 
nodding  above  its  even  surface,  or  a  bunch 
or  two  of  tall  bromus  as  if  for  ornament. 
This  fine  carpet  shrub  begins  to  appear  at, 
[43  ] 


My  First  Summer 

say,  twenty-five  hundred  or  three  thousand 
feet  above  sea  level,  is  about  knee  high  or 
less,  has  brown  branches,  and  the  largest 
stems  are  only  about  half  an  inch  in  dia- 
meter. The  leaves,  light  yellow  green, 
thrice  pinnate  and  finely  cut,  give  them  a 
rich  ferny  appearance,  and  they  are  dotted 
with  minute  glands  that  secrete  wax  with 
a  peculiar  pleasant  odor  .that  blends  finely 
with  the  spicy  fragrance  of  the  pines.  The 
flowers  are  white,  five  eighths  of  an  inch 
in  diameter,  and  look  like  those  of  the 
strawberry.  Am  delighted  with  this  little 
bush.  It  is  the  only  true  carpet  shrub  of 
this  part  of  the  Sierra.  The  manzanita, 
rhamnus,  and  most  of  the  species  of  ceano- 
thus  make  shaggy  rugs  and  border  fringes 
rather  than  carpets  or  mantles. 

The  sheep  do  not  take  kindly  to  their 
new  pastures,  perhaps  from  being  too  closely 
hemmed  in  by  the  hills.  They  are  never 
fully  at  rest.  Last  night  they  were  fright- 
ened, probably  by  bears  or  coyotes  prowling 
[  44  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

and  planning  for  a  share  of  the  grand  mass 
of  mutton. 

June  10. --Very  warm.  We  get  water 
for  the  camp  from  a  rock  basin  at  the  foot 
of  a  picturesque  cascading  reach  of  the  river 
where  it  is  well  stirred  and  made  lively 
without  being  beaten  into  dusty  foam.  The 
rock  here  is  black  metamorphic  slate,  worn 
into  smooth  knobs  in  the  stream  channels, 
contrasting  with  the  fine  gray  and  white 
cascading  water  as  it  glides  and  glances  and 
falls  in  lace-like  sheets  and  braided  over- 
folding  currents.  Tufts  of  sedge  growing 
on  the  rock  knobs  that  rise  above  the  sur- 
face produce  a  charming  effect,  the  long 
elastic  leaves  arching  over  in  every  direc- 
tion, the  tips  of  the  longest  drooping  into 
the  current,  which  dividing  against  the  pro- 
jecting rocks  makes  still  finer  lines,  uniting 
with  the  sedges  to  see  how  beautiful  the 
happy  stream  can  be  made.  Nor  is  this  all, 
for  the  giant  saxifrage  also  is  growing  on 
some  of  the  knob  rock  islets,  firmly  an- 

[45] 


My  First  Summer 

chored  and  displaying  their  broad  round 
umbrella-like  leaves  in  showy  groups  by 
themselves,  or  above  the  sedge  tufts.  The 
flowers  of  this  species  (Saxifraga  peltata} 
are  purple,  and  form  tall  glandular  racemes 
that  are  in  bloom  before  the  appearance  of 
the  leaves.  The  fleshy  root-stocks  grip  the 
rock  in  cracks  and  hollows,  and  thus  enable 
the  plant  to  hold  on  against  occasional 
floods,  —  a  marked  species  employed  by  Na- 
ture to  make  yet  more  beautiful  the  most 
interesting  portions  of  these  cool  clear 
streams.  Near  camp  the  trees  arch  over 
from  bank  to  bank,  making  a  leafy  tunnel 
full  of  soft  subdued  light,  through  which 
the  young  river  sings  and  shines  like  a  happy 
living  creature. 

Heard  a  few  peals  of  thunder  from  the 
upper  Sierra,  and  saw  firm  white  bossy  cu- 
muli rising  back  of  the  pines.  This  was 
about  noon. 

June  1 1.  —  On  one  of  the  eastern  branches 
of  the  river  discovered  some  charming  cas- 
[46] 


A  Forest  Brook 


In  the  Sierra 


cades  with  a  pool  at  the  foot  of  each  of  them. 
White  dashing  water,  a  few  bushes  and  tufts 
of  carex  on  ledges  leaning  over  with  fine 
effect,  and  large  orange  lilies  assembled  in 
superb  groups  on  fertile  soil-beds  beside  the 
pools. 

There  are  no  large  meadows  or  grassy 
plains  near  camp  to  supply  lasting  pasture  for 
our  thousands  of  busy  nibblers.  The  main 
dependence  is  ceanothus  brush  on  the  hills 
and  tufted  grass  patches  here  and  there,  with 
lupines  and  pea-vines  among  the  flowers  on 
sunny  open  spaces.  Large  areas  have  already 
been  stripped  bare,  or  nearly  so,  compelling 
the  poor  hungry  wool  bundles  to  scatter  far 
and  wide,  keeping  the  shepherds  and  dogs 
at  the  top  of  their  speed  to  hold  them  within 
bounds.  Mr.  Delaney  has  gone  back  to  the 
plains,  taking  the  Indian  and  Chinaman  with 
him,  leaving  instruction  to  keep  the  flock 
here  or  hereabouts  until  his  return,  which 
he  promised  would  not  be  long  delayed. 

How  fine  the  weather  is !  Nothing  more 
[47  ] 


My  First  Summer 

celestial  can  I  conceive.  How  gently  the 
winds  blow !  Scarce  can  these  tranquil  air- 
currents  be  called  winds.  They  seem  the  very 
breath  of  Nature,  whispering  peace  to  every 
living  thing.  Down  in  the  camp  dell  there 
is  no  swaying  of  tree-tops  ;  most  of  the  time 
not  a  leaf  moves.  I  don't  remember  having 
seen  a  single  lily  swinging  on  its  stalk,  though 
they  are  so  tall  the  least  breeze  would  rock 
them.  What  grand  bells  these  lilies  have! 
Some  of  them  big  enough  for  children's  bon- 
nets. I  have  been  sketching  them,  and  would 
fain  draw  every  leaf  of  their  wide  shining 
whorls  and  every  curved  and  spotted  petal. 
More  beautiful,  better  kept  gardens  cannot 
be  imagined.  The  species  is  Lilium  parda- 
linum,  five  to  six  feet  high,  leaf- whorls  a  foot 
wide,  flowers  about  six  inches  wide,  bright 
orange,  purple  spotted  in  the  throat,  seg- 
ments revolute  —  a  majestic  plant. 

June  12.  —  A  slight  sprinkle  of  rain, — 
large  drops  far  apart,  falling  with  hearty  pat 
and  plash  on  leaves  and  stones  and  into  the 
[48  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

mouths  of  the  flowers.  Cumuli  rising  to  the 
eastward.  How  beautiful  their  pearly  bosses  ! 
How  well  they  harmonize  with  the  upswell- 
ing  rocks  beneath  them.  Mountains  of  the 
sky,  solid-looking,  finely  sculptured,  their 
richly  varied  topography  wonderfully  de- 
fined. Never  before  have  I  seen  clouds  so 
substantial  looking  in  form  and  texture. 
Nearly  every  day  toward  noon  they  rise  with 
visible  swelling  motion  as  if  new  worlds 
were  being  created.  And  how  fondly  they 
brood  and  hover  over  the  gardens  and  for- 
ests with  their  cooling  shadows  and  show- 
ers, keeping  every  petal  and  leaf  in  glad 
health  and  heart.  One  may  fancy  the  clouds 
themselves  are  plants,  springing  up  in  the 
sky-fields  at  the  call  of  the  sun,  growing  in 
beauty  until  they  reach  their  prime,  scat- 
tering rain  and  hail  like  berries  and  seeds, 
then  wilting  and  dying. 

The  mountain  live  oak,  common  here  and 
a  thousand  feet  or  so  higher,  is  like  the  live  oak 
of  Florida,  not  only  in  general  appearance, 
[  49] 


My  First  Summer 

foliage,  bark,  and  wide- branching  habit, 
but  in  its  tough,  knotty,  unwedgeable  wood. 
Standing  alone  with  plenty  of  elbow  room, 
the  largest  trees  are  about  seven  to  eight  feet 
in  diameter  near  the  ground, sixty  feet  high, 


MOUNTAIN    LIVE    OAK    (Qucrcus  chrysolepis],    EIGHT    FEET    IN 
DIAMETER 

and  as  wide  or  wider  across  the  head.  The 
leaves  are  small  and  undivided,  mostly  with- 
out teeth  or  wavy  edging,  though  on  young 
shoots  some  are  sharply  serrated,  both  kinds 
being  found  on  the  same  tree.  The  cups  of 
[  50  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

the  medium-sized  acorns  are  shallow,  thick 
walled,  and  covered  with  a  golden  dust  of 
minute  hairs.  Some  of  the  trees  have  hardly 
any  main  trunk,  dividing  near  the  ground 
into  large  wide-spreading  limbs,  and  these, 
dividing  again  and  again,  terminate  in  long, 
drooping,  cord-like  branchlets,  many  of 
which  reach  nearly  to  the  ground,  while  a 
dense  canopy  of  short,  shining  leafy  branch- 
lets  forms  a  round  head  which  looks  some- 
thing like  a  cumulus  cloud  when  the  sun- 
shine is  pouring  over  it. 

A  marked  plant  is  the  bush  poppy  (Den- 
drome  con  rigidum},  found  on  the  hot  hillsides 
near  camp,  the  only  woody  member  of  the 
order  I  have  yet  met  in  all  my  walks.  Its 
flowers  are  bright  orange  yellow,  an  inch  to 
two  inches  wide,  fruit-pods  three  or  four 
inches  long,  slender  and  curving,  —  height 
of  bushes  about  four  feet,  made  up  of  many 
slim,  straight  branches,  radiating  from  the 
root,  —  a  companion  of  the  manzanita  and 
other  sun-loving  chaparral  shrubs. 


My  First  Summer 

June  13. —  Another  glorious  Sierra  day 
in  which  one  seems  to  be  dissolved  and  ab- 
sorbed and  sent  pulsing  onward  we  know  not 
where.  Life  seems  neither  long  nor  short, 
and  we  take  no  more  heed  to  save  time  or 
make  haste  than  do  the  trees  and  stars.  This 
is  true  freedom,  a  good  practical  sort  of  im- 
mortality. Yonder  rises  another  white  sky- 
land.  How  sharply  the  yellow  pine  spires 
and  the  palm-like  crowns  of  the  sugar  pines 
are  outlined  on  its  smooth  white  domes.  And 
hark!  the  grand  thunder  billows  booming, 
rolling  from  ridge  to  ridge,  followed  by  the 
faithful  shower. 

A  good  many  herbaceous  plants  come  thus 
far  up  the  mountains  from  the  plains,  and  are 
now  in  flower,  two  months  later  than  their 
lowland  relatives.  Saw  a  few  columbines  to- 
day. Most  of  the  ferns  are  in  their  prime,  - 
rock  ferns  on  the  sunny  hillsides,  cheilanthes, 
pellaea,  gymnogramme;  woodwardia,  aspi- 
dium,  woodsia  along  the  stream  banks,  and 
the  common  Pteris  aquilina  on  sandy  flats. 

[52] 


In  the  Sierra 

This  last,  however  common,  is  here  making 
shows  of  strong,  exuberant,  abounding  beauty 
to  set  the  botanist  wild  with  admiration.  I 
measured  some  scarce  full  grown  that  are 
more  than  seven  feet  high.  Though  the 
commonest  and  most  widely  distributed  of 
all  the  ferns,  I  might  almost  say  that  I  never 
saw  it  before.  The  broad-shouldered  fronds 
held  high  on  smooth  stout  stalks  growing 
close  together,  overleaning  and  overlapping, 
make  a  complete  ceiling,  beneath  which  one 
may  walk  erect  over  several  acres  without 
being  seen,  as  if  beneath  a  roof.  And  how 
soft  and  lovely  the  light  streaming  through 
this  living  ceiling,  revealing  the  arching 
branching  ribs  and  veins  of  the  fronds  as  the 
framework  of  countless  panes  of  pale  green 
and  yellow  plant-glass  nicely  fitted  together 
—  a  fairyland  created  out  of  the  commonest 
fern-stuff. 

The  smaller  animals  wander  about  as  if 
in  a  tropical  forest.  I  saw  the  entire  flock 
of  sheep  vanish  at  one  side  of  a  patch  and 

[53] 


My  First  Summer 

reappear  a  hundred  yards  farther  on  at  the 
other,  their  progress  betrayed  only  by  the 
jerking  and  trembling  of  the  fronds ;  and 
strange  to  say  very  few  of  the  stout  woody 
stalks  were  broken.  I  sat  a  long  time  be- 
neath the  tallest  fronds,  and  never  enjoyed  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  a  bower  of  wild  leaves 
more  strangely  impressive.  Only  spread  a 
fern  frond  over  a  man's  head  and  worldly 
cares  are  cast  out,  and  freedom  and  beauty 
and  peace  come  in.  The  waving  of  a  pine 
tree  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  —  a  magic 
wandin Nature's  hand, — every  devout  moun- 
taineer knows  its  power ;  but  the  marvel- 
ous beauty  value  of  what  the  Scotch  call  a 
breckan  in  a  still  dell,  what  poet  has  sung 
this  ?  It  would  seem  impossible  that  any  one, 
however  incrusted  with  care,  could  escape  the 
Godful  influence  of  these  sacred  fern  forests. 
Yet  this  very  day  I  saw  a  shepherd  pass 
through  one  of  the  finest  of  them  without 
betraying  more  feeling  than  his  sheep. 
"What  do  you  think  of  these  grand  ferns?" 
[  54  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

I   asked.     "  Oh,   they  're     only    d — d    big 
brakes,"  he  replied. 

Lizards  of  every  temper,  style,  and  color 
dwell  here,  seemingly  as  happy  and  com- 
panionable as  the  birds  and  squirrels.  Lowly, 
gentle  fellow  mortals,  enjoying  God's  sun- 
shine, and  doing  the  best  they  can  in  get- 
ting a  living,  I  like  to  watch  them  at  their 
work  and  play.  They  bear  acquaintance 
well,  and  one  likes  them  the  better  the 
longer  one  looks  into  their  beautiful,  inno- 
cent eyes.  They  are  easily  tamed,  and  one 
soon  learns  to  love  them,  as  they  dart  about 
on  the  hot  rocks,  swift  as  dragon-flies.  The 
eye  can  hardly  follow  them ;  but  they 
never  make  long-sustained  runs,  usually  only 
about  ten  or  twelve  feet,  then  a  sudden  stop, 
and  as  sudden  a  start  again;  going  all  their 
journeys  by  quick,  jerking  impulses.  These 
many  stops  I  find  are  necessary  as  rests,  for 
they  are  short-winded,  and  when  pursued 
steadily  are  soon  out  of  breath,  pant  piti- 
fully, and  are  easily  caught.  Their  bodies 
[  55  ] 


My  First  Summer 

are  more  than  half  tail,  but  these  tails  are 
well  managed,  never  heavily  dragged  nor 
curved  up  as  if  hard  to  carry ;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  seem  to  follow  the  body  lightly 
of  their  own  will.  Some  are  colored  like 
the  sky,  bright  as  bluebirds,  others  gray 
like  the  lichened  rocks  on  which  they  hunt 
and  bask.  Even  the  horned  toad  of  the 
plains  is  a  mild,  harmless  creature,  and  so 
are  the  snake-like  species  which  glide  in 
curves  with  true  snake  motion,  while  their 
small,  undeveloped  limbs  drag  as  useless 
appendages.  One  specimen  fourteen  inches 
long  which  I  observed  closely  made  no 
use  whatever  of  its  tender,  sprouting  limbs, 
but  glided  with  all  the  soft,  sly  ease  and 
grace  of  a  snake.  Here  comes  a  little,  gray, 
dusty  fellow  who  seems  to  know  and  trust 
me,  running  about  my  feet,  and  looking 
up  cunningly  into  my  face.  Carlo  is  watch- 
ing, makes  a  quick  pounce  on  him,  for  the 
fun  of  the  thing  I  suppose ;  but  Liz  has  shot 
away  from  his  paws  like  an  arrow,  and  is 
[  56] 


In  the  Sierra 


safe  in  the  recesses  of  a  clump  of  chaparral. 
Gentle  saurians,  dragons,  descendants  of  an 
ancient  and  mighty  race,  Heaven  bless  you 
all  and  make  your  virtues  known !  for  few 
of  us  know  as  yet  that  scales  may  cover 
fellow  creatures  as  gentle  and  lovable  as 
feathers,  or  hair,  or  cloth. 

Mastodons  and  elephants  used  to  live  here 
no  great  geological  time  ago,  as  shown  by 
their  bones,  often  discovered  by  miners  in 
washing  gold-gravel.  And  bears  of  at  least 
two  species  are  here  now,  besides  the  Cali- 
brnia  lion  or  panther,  and  wild  cats,  wolves, 
foxes,  snakes,  scorpions,  wasps,  tarantulas; 
but  one  is  almost  tempted  at  times  to  regard 
a  small  savage  black  ant  as  the  master  ex- 
istence of  this  vast  mountain  world.  These 
fearless,  restless,  wandering  imps,  though 
only  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  long,  are 
fonder  of  fighting  and  biting  than  any  beast 
I  know.  They  attack  every  living  thing 
around  their  homes,  often  without  cause  as 
far  as  I  can  see.  Their  bodies  are  mostly 

[  57] 


My  First  Summer 

jaws  curved  like  ice-hooks,  and  to  get  work 
for  these  weapons  seems  to  be  their  chief 
aim  and  pleasure.  Most  of  their  colonies 
are  established  in  living  oaks  somewhat 
decayed  or  hollowed,  in  which  they  can 
conveniently  build  their  cells.  These  are 
chosen  probably  because  of  their  strength 
as  opposed  to  the  attacks  of  animals  and 
storms.  They  work  both  day  and  night, 
creep  into  dark  caves,  climb  the  highest 
trees,  wander  and  hunt  through  cool  ravines 
as  well  as  on  hot,  unshaded  ridges,  and  ex- 
tend their  highways  and  byways  over  every- 
thing but  water  and  sky.  From  the  foot- 
hills to  a  mile  above  the  level  of  the  sea 
nothing  can  stir  without  their  knowledge; 
and  alarms  are  spread  in  an  incredibly  short 
time,  without  any  howl  or  cry  that  we  can 
hear.  I  can't  understand  the  need  of  their 
ferocious  courage;  there  seems  to  be  no 
common  sense  in  it.  Sometimes,  no  doubt, 
they  fight  in  defense  of  their  homes,  but 
they  fight  anywhere  and  always  wherever 
[  58  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

they  can  find  anything  to  bite.  As  soon  as 
a  vulnerable  spot  is  discovered  on  man  or 
beast,  they  stand  on  their  heads  and  sink 
their  jaws,  and  though  torn  limb  from  limb, 
they  will  yet  hold  on  and  die  biting  deeper. 
When  I  contemplate  this  fierce  creature  so 
widely  distributed  and  strongly  intrenched, 
I  see  that  much  remains  to  be  done  ere  the 
world  is  brought  under  the  rule  of  univer- 
sal peace,  and  love. 

On  my  way  to  camp  a  few  minutes  ago, 
I  passed  a  dead  pine  nearly  ten  feet  in  dia- 
meter. It  has  been  enveloped  in  fire  from 
top  to  bottom  so  that  now  it  looks  like  a 
grand  black  pillar  set  up  as  a  monument. 
In  this  noble  shaft  a  colony  of  large  jet- 
black  ants  have  established  themselves,  la- 
boriously cutting  tunnels  and  cells  through 
the  wood,  whether  sound  or  decayed.  The 
entire  trunk  seems  to  have  been  honey- 
combed, judging  by  the  size  of  the  talus  of 
gnawed  chips  like  sawdust  piled  up  around 
its  base.  They  are  more  intelligent  looking 
[  59] 


My  First  Summer 

than  their  small,  belligerent,  strong-scented 
brethren,  and  have  better  manners,  though 
quick  to  fight  when  required.  Their  towns 
are  carved  in  fallen  trunks  as  well  as  in 
those  left  standing,  but  never  in  sound,  liv- 
ing trees  or  in  the  ground.  When  you 
happen  to  sit  down  to  rest  or  take  notes 
near  a  colony,  some  wandering  hunter  is 
sure  to  find  you  and  come  cautiously  for- 
ward to  discover  the  nature  of  the  intruder 
and  what  ought  to  be  done.  If  you  are  not 
too  near  the  town  and  keep  perfectly  still  he 
may  run  across  your  feet  a  few  times,  over 
your  legs  and  hands  and  face,  up  your  trou- 
sers, as  if  taking  your  measure  and  getting 
comprehensive  views,  then  go  in  peace 
without  raising  an  alarm.  If,  however,  a 
tempting  spot  is  offered  or  some  suspicious 
movement  excites  him,  a  bite  follows,  and 
such  a  bite !  I  fancy  that  a  bear  or  wolf 
bite  is  not  to  be  compared  with  it.  A  quick 
electric  flame  of  pain  flashes  along  the  out- 
raged nerves,  and  you  discover  for  the  first 
[60] 


In  the  Sierra 

time  how  great  is  the  capacity  for  sensation 
you  are  possessed  of.  A  shriek,  a  grab  for 
the  animal,  and  a  bewildered  stare  follow 
this  bite  of  bites  as  one  comes  back  to  con- 
sciousness from  sudden  eclipse.  Fortunately, 
if  careful,  one  need  not  be  bitten  oftener 
than  once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime.  This  won- 
derful electric  species  is  about  three  fourths 
of  an  inch  long.  Bears  are  fond  of  them,  and 
tear  and  .gnaw  their  home-logs  to  pieces, 
and  roughly  devour  the  eggs,  larvae,  parent 
ants,  and  the  rotten  or  sound  wood  of  the 
cells,  all  in  one  spicy  acid  hash.  The  Digger 
Indians  also  are  fond  of  the  larvae  and  even 
of  the  perfect  ants,  so  I  have  been  told  by 
old  mountaineers.  They  bite  off  and  reject 
the  head,  and  eat  the  tickly  acid  body  with 
keen  relish.  Thus  are  the  poor  biters  bitten, 
like  every  other  biter,  big  or  little,  in  the 
world's  great  family. 

There  is  also  a  fine,  active,  intelligent- 
looking  red  species,  intermediate  in  size  be- 
tween the  above.  They  dwell  in  the  ground, 
[  61  ] 


My  First  Summer 

and  build  large  piles  of  seed  husks,  leaves, 
straw,  etc.,  over  their  nests.  Their  food 
seems  to  be  mostly  insects  and  plant  leaves, 
seeds  and  sap.  How  many  mouths  Nature 
has  to  fill,  how  many  neighbors  we  have, 
how  little  we  know  about  them,  and  how 
seldom  we  get  in  each  other's  way!  Then 
to  think  of  the  infinite  numbers  of  smaller 
fellow  mortals,  invisibly  small,  compared 
with  which  the  smallest  ants  are  as  masto- 
dons. 

June  14.  —  The  pool-basins  below  the 
falls  and  cascades  hereabouts,  formed  by 
the  heavy  down-plunging  currents,  are  kept 
nicely  clean  and  clear  of  detritus.  The  heav- 
ier parts  of  the  material  swept  over  the  falls 
are  heaped  up  a  short  distance  in  front  of  the 
basins  in  the  form  of  a  dam,  thus  tending, 
together  with  erosion,  to  increase  their  size. 
Sudden  changes,  however,  are  effected  during 
the  spring  floods,  when  the  snow  is  melting 
and  the  upper  tributaries  are  roaring  loud 
from  "bank  to  brae."  Then  boulders  that 
[62  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

have  fallen  into  the  channels,  and  which  the 
ordinary  summer  and  winter  currents  were 
unable  to  move,  are  suddenly  swept  forward 
as  by  a  mighty  besom,  hurled  over  the  falls 
into  these  pools,  and  piled  up  in  a  new  dam 
together  with  part  of  the  old  one,  while  some 
of  the  smaller  boulders  are  carried  further 
down  stream  and  variously  lodged  according 
to  size  and  shape,  all  seeking  rest  where  the 
force  of  the  current  is  less  than  the  resist- 
ance they  are  able  to  offer.  But  the  greatest 
changes  made  in  these  relations  of  fall,  pool, 
and  dam  are  caused,  not  by  the  ordinary  spring 
floods,  but  by  extraordinary  ones  that  occur 
at  irregular  intervals.  The  testimony  of  trees 
growing  on  flood  boulder  deposits  shows  that 
a  century  or  more  has  passed  since  the  last 
master  flood  came  to  awaken  everything 
movable  to  go  swirling  and  dancing  on  won- 
derful journeys.  These  floods  may  occur  dur- 
ing the  summer,  when  heavy  thunder-show- 
ers, called  "  cloud-bursts/ '  fall  on  wide,  steeply 
inclined  stream  basins  furrowed  by  converg- 
[  63  ] 


My  First  Summer 

ing  channels,  which  suddenly  gather  the 
waters  together  into  the  main  trunk  in 
booming  torrents  of  enormous  transporting 
power,  though  short  lived. 

One  of  these  ancient  flood  boulders  stands 
firm  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  channel, 
just  below  the  lower  edge  of  the  pool  dam 
at  the  foot  of  the  fall  nearest  our  camp.  It  is 
a  nearly  cubical  mass  of  granite  about  eight 
feet  high,  plushed  with  mosses  over  the  top 
and  down  the  sides  to  ordinary  high-water 
mark.  When  I  climbed  on  top  of  it  to-day 
and  lay  down  to  rest,  it  seemed  the  most  ro- 
mantic spot  I  had  yet  found,  --the  one  big 
stone  with  its  mossy  level  top  and  smooth 
sides  standing  square  and  firm  and  solitary, 
like  an  altar,  the  fall  in  front  of  it  bathing  it 
lightly  with  the  finest  of  the  spray,  just  enough 
to  keep  its  moss  cover  fresh ;  the  clear  green 
pool  beneath,  with  its  foam-bells  and  its  half 
circle  of  lilies  leaning  forward  like  a  band  of 
admirers,  and  flowering  dogwood  and  alder 
trees  leaning  over  all  in  sun-sifted  arches. 
[64] 


In  the  Sierra 

How  soothingly,  restfully  cool  it  is  beneath 
that  leafy,  translucent  ceiling,  and  how  de- 
lightful the  water  music  —  the  deep  bass 
tones  of  the  fall,  the  clashing,  ringing  spray, 
and  infinite  variety  of  small  low  tones  of  the 
current  gliding  past  the  side  of  the  boulder- 
island,  and  glinting  against  a  thousand  smaller 
stones  down  the  ferny  channel !  All  this  shut 
in;  every  one  of  these  influences  acting  at 
short  range  as  if  in  a  quiet  room.  The  place 
seemed  holy,  where  one  might  hope  to  see 
God. 

After  dark,  when  the  camp  was  at  rest,  I 
groped  my  way  back  to  the  altar  boulder  and 
passed  the  night  on  it,  —  above  the  water, 
beneath  the  leaves  and  stars,  —  everything 
still  more  impressive  than  by  day,  the  fall 
seen  dimly  white,  singing  Nature's  old  love 
song  with  solemn  enthusiasm,  while  the 
stars  peering  through  the  leaf-roof  seemed 
to  join  in  the  white  water's  song.  Precious 
night,  precious  day  to  abide  in  me  forever. 
Thanks  be  to  God  for  this  immortal  gift. 
[  65  ] 


My  First  Summer 

"June  1 5. --Another  reviving  morning. 
Down  the  long  mountain-slopes  the  sun- 
beams pour,  gilding  the  awakening  pines, 
cheering  every  needle,  filling  every  living 
thing  with  joy.  Robins  are  singing  in  the 
alder  and  maple  groves,  the  same  old  song 
that  has  cheered  and  sweetened  countless 
seasons  over  almost  all  of  our  blessed  con- 
tinent. In  this  mountain  hollow  he  seems 
as  much  at  home  as  in  farmers'  orchards. 
Bullock's  oriole  and  the  Louisiana  tanager 
are  here  also,  with  many  warblers  and  other 
little  mountain  troubadours,  most  of  them 
now  busy  about  their  nests. 

Discovered  another  magnificent  specimen 
of  the  goldcup  oak  six  feet  in  diameter,  a 
Douglas  spruce  seven  feet,  and  a  twining  lily 
(Sir op  bo  lir ion],  with  stem  eight  feet  long, 
and  sixty  rose-colored  flowers. 

Sugar  pine  cones  are  cylindrical,  slightly 

tapered  at  the  end  and  rounded  at  the  base. 

Found  one  to-day  nearly  twenty-four  inches 

long  and  six  in  diameter,  the  scales  being 

[66  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

open.    Another   specimen   nineteen  inches 
long;    the    average    length    of  full-grown 


SUGAR    PINE 


cones  on  trees  favorably  situated  is  nearly 
eighteen  inches.  On  the  lower  edge  of  the 
belt  at  a  height  of  about  twenty-five  hun- 

[67] 


My  First  Summer 


dred  feet  above  the  sea  they  are  smaller,  say 
a  foot  to  fifteen  inches  long,  and  at  a  height 
of  seven  thousand  feet  or  more  near  the 
upper  limits  of  its  growth  in  the  Yosemite 
region  they  are  about  the  same  size.  This 
1  noble  tree  is  an  inexhaustible  study  and 
source  of  pleasure.  I  never  weary  of  gaz- 
ing at  its  grand  tassel  cones,  its  perfectly 
round  bole  one  hundred  feet  or  more 
without  a  limb,  the  fine  purplish  color  of 
its  bark,  and  its  magnificent  outsweeping, 
down-curving  feathery  arms  forming  a 
crown  always  bold  and  striking  and  exhila- 
rating. In  habit  and  general  port  it  looks 
somewhat  like  a  palm,  but  no  palm  that  I 
have  yet  seen  displays  such  majesty  of  form 
and  behavior  either  when  poised  silent  and 
thoughtful  in  sunshine,  or  wide-awake  wav- 
ing in  storm  winds  with  every  needle  quiv- 
ering. When  young  it  is  very  straight  and 
regular  in  form  like  most  other  conifers ;  but 
at  the  age  of  fifty  to  one  hundred  years  it  be- 
gins to  acquire  individuality,  so  that  no  two 
[68  ] 


A  Sugar  Pine  (on  the  left) 


In  the  Sierra 

ire  alike  in  their  prime  or  old  age.   Every 
•ee   calls   for  special  admiration.    I    have 
>een  making  many  sketches,  and  regret  that 
I  cannot  draw  every  needle.  It  is  said  to  reach 
height  of  three  hundred  feet,  though  the 
tallest   I  have  measured  falls  short  of  this 
stature  sixty  feet  or  more.  The  diameter  of 
:he  largest  near  the  ground  is  about  ten  feet, 
though  I  've  heard  of  some  twelve  feet  thick 
or  even  fifteen.    The  diameter  is  held  to  a 
;reat  height,  the  taper  being  almost  imper- 
:eptibly  gradual.   Its  companion,  the  yellow 
pine,  is  almost  as  large.    The  long  silvery 
foliage  of  the  younger  specimens  forms  mag- 
lificent  cylindrical  brushes  on  the  top  shoots 
ind  the  ends  of  the  upturned  branches,  and 
hen  the  wind  sways  the  needles  all  one 
ray  at  a  certain  angle  every  tree  becomes 
tower  of  white  quivering  sun-fire.   Well 
may  this  shining  species  be  called  the  silver 
pine.  The  needles  are  sometimes  more  than 
a  foot  long,  almost  as  long  as  those  of  the 
long-leaf  pine  of  Florida.    But  though  in 
[69] 


My  First  Summer 

size  the  yellow  pine  almost  equals  the  sugar 
pine,  and  in  rugged  enduring  strength  seems 
to  surpass  it,  it  is  far  less  marked  in  general 
habit  and  expression,  with  its  regular  con- 
ventional spire  and  its  comparatively  small 
cones  clustered  stiffly  among  the  needles. 
Were  there  no  -sugar  pine,  then  would  this 
be  the  king  of  the  world's  eighty  or  ninety 
species,  the  brightest  of  the  bright,  waving, 
worshiping  multitude.  Were  they  mere  me- 
chanical sculptures,  what  noble  objects  they 
would  still  be  !  How  much  more  throb-, 
bing,  thrilling,  overflowing,  full  of  life  in 
every  fibre  and  cell,  grand  glowing  silver- 
rods —  the  very  gods  of  the  plant  kingdom, 
living,  their  sublime  century  lives  in  sight 
of  Heaven,  watched  and  loved  and  admired 
from  generation  to  generation  !  And  how 
many  other  radiant  resiny  sun  trees  are  here 
and  higher  up, — libocedrus,  Douglas  spruce, 
silver  fir,  sequoia.  How  rich  our  inheritance 
in  these  blessed  mountains,  the  tree  pastures 
into  which  our  eyes  are  turned! 
[70] 


In  the  Sierra 

Now  comes  sundown.  The  west  is  all  a 
glory  of  color  transfiguring  everything.  Far 
up  the  Pilot  Peak  Ridge  the  radiant  host  of 
trees  stand  hushed  and  thoughtful,  receiving 
the  Sun's  good-night,  as  solemn  and  impres- 
sive a  leave-taking  as  if  sun  and  trees  were  to 
meet  no  more.  The  daylight  fades,  the  color 
spell  is  broken,  and  the  forest  breathes  free 
in  the  night  breeze  beneath  the  stars. 

June  1 6.  —  One  of  the  Indians  from 
Brown's  Flat  got  right  into  the  middle  of 
the  camp  this  morning,  unobserved.  I  was 
seated  on  a  stone,  looking  over  my  notes  and 
sketches,  and  happening  to  look  up,  was 
startled  to  see  him  standing  grim  and  silent 
within  a  few  steps  of  me,  as  motionless  and 
weather-stained  as  an  old  tree-stump  that  had 
stood  there  for  centuries.  All  Indians  seem 
to  have  learned  this  wonderful  way  of  walk- 
ing unseen,  —  making  themselves  invisible 
like  certain  spiders  I  have  been  observing 
here,  which,  in  case  of  alarm,  caused,  for  ex- 
ample, by  a  bird  alighting  on  the  bush  their 


My  First  Summer 

webs  are  spread  upon,  immediately  bounce 
themselves  up  and  down  on  their  elastic 
threads  so  rapidly  that  only  a  blur  is  visible. 
The  wild  Indian  power  of  escaping  observa- 
tion, even  where  there  is  little  or  no  cover 
to  hide  in,  was  probably  slowly  acquired  in 
hard  hunting  and  fighting  lessons  while  try- 
ing to  approach  game,  take  enemies  by  sur- 
prise, or  get  safely  away  when  compelled 
to  retreat.  And  this  experience  transmitted 
through  many  generations  seems  at  length  to 
have  become  what  is  vaguely  called  instinct. 
How  smooth  and  changeless  seems  the 
surface  of  the  mountains  about  us  !  Scarce  a 
track  is  to  be  found  beyond  the  range  of  the 
sheep  except  on  small  open  spots  on  the  sides 
of  the  streams,  or  where  the  forest  carpets  are 
thin  or  wanting.  On  the  smoothest  of  these 
open  strips  and  patches  deer  tracks  may  be 
seen,  and  the  great  suggestive  footprints  of 
bears,  which,  with  those  of  the  many  small 
animals,  are  scarce  enough  to  answer  as  a  kind 
of  light  ornamental  stitching  or  embroidery. 
[72] 


In  the  Sierra 

Along  the  main  ridges  and  larger  branches  of 
the  river  Indian  trails  may  be  traced,  but  they 
are  not  nearly  as  distinct  as  one  would  expect 
to  find  them.  How  many  centuries  Indians 
have  roamed  these  woods  nobody  knows, 
probably  a  great  many,  extending  far  beyond 
he  time  that  Columbus  touched  our  shores, 
nd  it  seems  strange  that  heavier  marks  have 
not  been  made.  Indians  walk  softly  and  hurt 
the  landscape  hardly  more  than  the  birds  and 
squirrels,  and  their  brush  and  bark  huts  last 
hardly  longer  than  those  of  wood  rats,  while 
their  more  enduring  monuments,  excepting 
those  wrought  on  the  forests  by  the  fires  they 
made  to  improve  their  hunting  grounds,  van- 
ish in  a  few  centuries. 

How  different  are  most  of  those  of  the 
white  man,  especially  on  the  lower  gold  re- 
gion,—  roads  blasted  in  the  solid  rock,  wild 
streams  dammed  and  tamed  and  turned  out 
of  their  channels  and  led  along  the  sides  of 
canons  and  valleys  to  work  in  mines  like 
slaves.  Crossing  from  ridge  to  ridge,  high  in 
[73] 


'My  First  Summer 

the  air,  on  long  straddling  trestles  as  if  flow- 
ing on  stilts,  or  down  and  up  across  valleys 
and  hills,  imprisoned  in  iron  pipes  to  strike 
and  wash  away  hills  and  miles  of  the  skin 
of  the  mountain's  face,  riddling,  stripping 
every  gold  gully  and  flat.  These  are  the 
white  man's  marks  made  in  a  few  feverish 
years,  to  say  nothing  of  mills,  fields,  villages, 
scattered  hundreds  of  miles  along  the  flank 
of  the  Range.  Long  will  it  be  ere  these 
marks  are  effaced,  though  Nature  is  doing 
what  she  can,  replanting,  gardening,  sweep- 
ing away  old  dams  and  flumes,  leveling 
gravel  and  boulder  piles,  patiently  trying  to 
heal  every  raw  scar.  The  main  gold  storm  is 
over.  Calm  enough  are  the  gray  old  miners 
scratching  a  bare  living  in  waste  diggings 
here  and  there.  Thundering  underground 
blasting  is  still  going  on  to  feed  the  pound- 
ing quartz  mills,  but  their  influence  on  the 
landscape  is  light  as  compared  with  that  of 
the  pick-and-shovel  storms  waged  a  few 
years  ago.  Fortunately  for  Sierra  scenery  the 
[  74] 


In  the  Sierra 


i^old-bearing  slates  are  mostly  restricted  to 
:he  foothills.  The  region  about  our  camp 
is  still  wild,  and  higher  lies  the  snow  about 
trackless  as  the  sky. 

Only  a  few  hills  and  domes  of  cloudland 
ere  built  yesterday  and  none  at  all  to-day. 
The  light  is  peculiarly  white  and  thin, 
though  pleasantly  warm.  The  serenity  of 
this  mountain  weather  in  the  spring,  just 
when  Nature's  pulses  are  beating  highest, 
is  one  of  its  greatest  charms.  There  is  only 
a  moderate  breeze  from  the  summits  of  the 
Range  at  night,  and  a  slight  breathing  from 
the  sea  and  the  lowland  hills  and  plains 
during  the  day,  or  stillness  so  complete  no 
leaf  stirs.  The  trees  hereabouts  have  but 
little  wind  history  to  tell. 

Sheep,  like  people,  are  ungovernable  when 
ungry.  Excepting  my  guarded  lily  gardens, 
Imost  every  leaf  that  these  hoofed  locusts 
n  reach  within  a  radius  of  a  mile  or  two 
from   camp  has  been  devoured.    Even  the 
bushes  are   stripped  bare,  and    in  spite   of 
[75  ] 


My  First  Summer 

dogs  and  shepherds  the  sheep  scatter  to  all 
points  of  the  compass  and  vanish  in  dust.  I 
fear  some  are  lost,  for  one  of  the  sixteen 
black  ones  is  missing. 

June  17.  —  Counted  the  wool  bundles 
this  morning  as  they  bounced  through  the 
narrow  corral  gate.  About  three  hundred 
are  missing,  and  as  the  shepherd  could  not 
go  to  seek  them,  I  had  to  go.  I  tied  a  crust 
of  bread  to  my  belt,  and  with  Carlo  set  out 
for  the  upper  slopes  of  the  Pilot  Peak  Ridge, 
and  had  a  good  day,  notwithstanding  the 
care  of  seeking  the  silly  runaways.  I  went 
out  for  wool,  and  did  not  come  back  shorn. 
A  peculiar  light  circled  around  the  horizon, 
white  and  thin  like  that  often  seen  over  the 
auroral  corona,  blending  into  the  blue  of  the 
upper  sky.  The  only  clouds  were  a  few 
faint  flossy  pencilings  like  combed  silk.  I 
pushed  direct  to  the  boundary  of  the  usual 
range  of  the  flock,  and  around  it  until  I 
found  the  outgoing  trail  of  the  wanderers. 
It  led  far  up  the  ridge  into  an  open  place 
[  76  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

surrounded  by  a  hedge-like  growth  of  cea- 
nothus  chaparral.  Carlo  knew  what  I  was 
about,  and  eagerly  followed  the  scent  until 
we  came  up  to  them,  huddled  in  a  timid,  si- 
lent bunch.  They  had  evidently  been  here  all 
night  and  all  the  forenoon,  afraid  to  go  out 
to  feed.  Having  escaped  restraint,  they  were, 
like  some  people  we  know  of,  afraid  of  their 
freedom,  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it, 
and  seemed  glad  to  get  back  into  the  old 
familiar  bondage. 

June  1 8. — Another  inspiring  morning, 
nothing  better  in  any  world  can  be  con- 
ceived. No  description  of  Heaven  that  I 
have  ever  heard  or  read  of  seems  half  so 

me.    At   noon  the   clouds  occupied  about 
.05  of  the  sky,  white  filmy  touches  drawn 

lelicately  on  the  azure. 

The  high  ridges  and  hilltops  beyond 
the  woolly  locusts  are  now  gay  with  mon- 

irdella,  clarkia,  coreopsis,  and  tall  tufted 
grasse?,  some  of  them  tall  enough  to  wave 
like  pines.  The  lupines,  of  which  there  are 
[77] 


My  First  Summer 

many  ill-defined  species,  are  now  mostly  out 
of  flower,  and  many  of  the  composite  are 
beginning  to  fade,  their  radiant  corollas  van- 
ishing in  fluffy  pappus  like  stars  in  mist. 

We  had  another  visitor  from  Brown's 
Flat  to-day,  an  old  Indian  woman  with  a 
basket  on  her  back.  Like  our  first  caller 
from  the  village,  she  got  fairly  into  camp 
and  was  standing  in  plain  view  when  dis- 
covered. How  long  she  had  been  quietly 
looking  on,  I  cannot  say.  Even  the  dogs 
failed  to  notice  her  stealthy  approach.  She 
was  on  her  way,  I  suppose,  to  some  wild 
garden,  probably  for  lupine  and  starchy 
saxifrage  leaves  and  rootstocks.  Her  dress 
was  calico  rags,  far  from  clean.  In  every 
way  she  seemed  sadly  unlike  Nature's  neat 
well-dressed  animals,  though  living  like  them 
on  the  bounty  of  the  wilderness.  Strange 
that  mankind  alone  is  dirty.  Had  she  been 
clad  in  fur,  or  cloth  woven  of  grass  or 
shreddy  bark,  like  the  juniper  and  liboce- 
drus  mats,  she  might  then  have  seemed  a 
[  78  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

rightful  part  of  the  wilderness;  like  a  good 
wolf  at  least,  or  bear.  But  from  no  point  of 
view  that  I  have  found  are  such  debased 
fellow  beings  a  whit  more  natural  than 
the  glaring  tailored  tourists  we  saw  that 
frightened  the  birds  and  squirrels. 

yune  19.  —  Pure  sunshine  all  day.  How 
beautiful  a  rock  is  made  by  leaf  shadows ! 
Those  of  the  live  oak  are  particularly  clear 

tnd  distiruct,  and  beyond  all  art  in  grace  and 
delicacy,  now  still  as  if  painted  on  stone, 
now  gliding  softly  as  if  afraid  of  noise,  now 

lancing,  waltzing  in  swift,  merry  swirls,  or 
jumping  on  and  off  sunny  rocks  in  quick 
dashes  like  wave  embroidery  on  seashore 
cliffs.  How  true  and  substantial  is  this  shadow 
beauty,  and  with  what  sublime  extravagance 
is  beauty  thus  multiplied !  The  big  orange 
lilies  are  now  arrayed  in  all  their  glory  of 
leat  and  flower.  Noble  plants,  in  perfect 
health,  Nature's  darlings. 

June  20.  —  Some  of  the  silly  sheep  got 
caught  fast  in  a  tangle  of  chaparral  this 
[79] 


My  First  Summer 

morning,  like  flies  in  a  spider's  web,  and  had 
to  be  helped  out.  Carlo  found  them  and  tried 
to  drive  them  from  the  trap  by  the  easiest 
way.  How  far  above  sheep  are  intelligent 
dogs!  No  friend  and  helper  can  be  more 
affectionate  and  constant  than  Carlo.  The 
noble  St.  Bernard  is  an  honor  to  his  race. 

The  air  is  distinctly  fragrant  with  balsam 
and  resin  and  mint, —  every  breath  of  it  a 
gift  we  may  well  thank  God  for.  Who 
could  ever  guess  that  so  rough  a  wilderness 
should  yet  be  so  fine,  so  full  of  good  things. 
One  seems  to  be  in  a  majestic  domed  pavil- 
ion in  which  a  grand  play  is  being  acted 
with  scenery  and  music  and  incense,  —  all 
the  furniture  and  action  so  interesting  we 
are  in  no  danger  of  being  called  on  to  en- 
dure one  dull  moment.  God  himself  seems 
to  be  always  doing  his  best  here,  working 
like  a  man  in  a  glow  of  enthusiasm. 

June  21.  —  Sauntered  along  the  river-bank 
to  my  lily  gardens.  The  perfection  of 
beauty  in  these  lilies  of  the  wilderness  is  a 
[  80  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

never-ending  source  of  admiration  and  won- 
der. Their  rhizomes  are  set  in  black  mould 
accumulated  in  hollows  of  the  metamor- 
phic  slates  beside  the  pools,  where  they  are 
well  watered  without  being  subjected  to 
lood  action.  Every  leaf  in  the  level  whorls 
around  the  tall  polished  stalks  is  as  finely 
finished  as  the  petals,  and  the  light  and 
heat  required  are  measured  for  them  and 
tempered,  in  passing  through  the  branches 
of  over-leaning  trees.  However  strong  the 
rinds  from  the  noon  rain-storms,  they  are 
icurely  sheltered.  Beautiful  hypnum  car- 
pets bordered  with  ferns  are  spread  beneath 
them,  violets  too,  and  a  few  daisies.  Every- 
thing around  them  sweet  and  fresh  like 
themselves. 

Cloudland  to-day  is  only  a  solitary  white 
mountain ;  but  it  is  so  enriched  with  sunshine 
and  shade,  the  tones  of  color  on  its  big  domed 
head  and  bossy  outbulging  ridges,  and  in  the 
hollows  and  ravines  between  them,  are  inef- 
fably fine. 

[  81  ] 


My  First  Summer 

"June  22.  —  Unusually  cloudy.  Besides 
the  periodical  shower-bearing  cumuli  there 
is  a  thin  diffused  fog-like  cloud  overhead. 
About  .75  in  all. 

June  2  3. --Oh,  these  vast,  calm,  mea- 
sureless mountain  days,  inciting  at  once  to 
work  and  rest !  Days  in  whose  light  every- 
thing seems  equally  divine,  opening  a  thou- 
sand windows  to  show  us  God.  Nevermore, 
however  weary,  should  one  faint  by  the  way 
who  gains  the  blessings  of  one  mountain  day ; 
whatever  his  fate,  long  life,  short  life,  stormy 
or  calm,  he  is  rich  forever. 

June  24.  —  Our  regular  allowance  of 
clouds  and  thunder.  Shepherd  Billy  is  in  a 
peck  of  trouble  about  the  sheep;  he  declares 
that  they  are  possessed  with  more  of  the  evil 
one  than  any  other  flock  from  the  beginning 
of  the  invention  of  mutton  and  wool  to  the 
last  batch  of  it.  No  matter  how  many  are 
missing,  he  will  not,  he  says,  go  a  step  to  seek 
them,  because,  as  he  reasons,  while  getting 
back  one  wanderer  he  would  probably  lose 

[82    ] 


In  the  Sierra 

ten.  Therefore  runaway  hunting  must  be 
Carlo's  and  mine.  Billy's  little  dog  Jack  is 
also  giving  trouble  by  leaving  camp  every 
night  to  visit  his  neighbors  up  the  mountain 
at  Brown's  Flat.  He  is  a  common-looking 
cur  of  no  particular  breed,  but  tremendously 
enterprising  in  love  and  war.  He  has  cut  all 
the  ropes  and  leather  straps  he  has  been  tied 
with,  until  his  master  in  desperation,  after 
climbing,  the  brushy  mountain  again  and 
again  to  drag  him  back,  fastened  him  with  a 
pole  attached  to  his  collar  under  his  chin  at 
one  end,  and  to  a  stout  sapling  at  the  other. 
But  the  pole  gave  good  leverage,  and  by  con- 
stant twisting  during  the  night,  the  fastening 
at  the  sapling  end  was  chafed  off,  and  he  set 
out  on  his  usual  journey,  dragging  the  pole 
through  the  brush,  and  reached  the  Indian 
settlement  in  safety.  His  master  followed, 
and  making  no  allowance,  gave  him  a  beat- 
ing, and  swore  in  bad  terms  that  next  even- 
ing he  would  "fix  that  infatuated  pup"  by 
anchoring  him  unmercifully  to  the  heavy 
[83  ] 


My  First  Summer 

cast-iron  lid  of  our  Dutch  oven,  weighing 
about  as  much  as  the  dog.  It  was  linked  di- 
rectly to  his  collar  close  up  under  the  chin, 
so  that  the  poor  fellow  seemed  unable  to  stir. 
He  stood  quite  discouraged  until  after  dark, 
unable  to  look  about  him,  or  even  to  lie  down 
unless  he  stretched  himself  out  with  his  front 
feet  across  the  lid,  and  his  head  close  down 
between  his  paws.  Before  morning,  how- 
ever, Jack  was  heard  far  up  the  height 
howling  Excelsior,  cast-iron  anchor  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding.  He  must  have 
walked,  or  rather  climbed,  erect  on  his  hind 
legs,  clasping  the  heavy  lid  like  a  shield 
against  his  breast,  a  formidable  iron-clad 
condition  in  which  to  meet  his  rivals.  Next 
night,  dog,  pot-lid,  and  all,  were  tied  up  in 
an  old  bean-sack,  and  thus  at  last  angry  Billy 
gained  the  victory.  Just  before  leaving  home, 
Jack  was  bitten  in  the  lower  jaw  by  a  rattle- 
snake, and  for  a  week  or  so  his  head  and  neck 
were  swollen  to  more  than  double  the  nor- 
mal size ;  nevertheless  he  ran  about  as  brisk 
[84  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

and  lively  as  ever,  and  is  now  completely 
recovered.  The  only  treatment  he  got  was 
fresh  milk,  —  a  gallon  or  two  at  a  time  forci- 
bly poured  down  his  sore,  poisoned  throat. 

June  25 Though  only  a  sheep  camp, 

this  grand  mountain  hollow  is  home,  sweet 
home,  every  day  growing  sweeter,  and  I 
shall  be  sorry  to  leave  it.  The  lily  gardens 
are  safe  as  yet  from  the  trampling  flock. 
Poor,  dusty,  raggedy,  famishing  creatures,  I 
heartily  pity  them.  Many  a  mile  they  must 
go  every  day  to  gather  their  fifteen  or 
twenty  tons  of  chaparral  and  grass. 

June  26.  —  Nuttall's  flowering  dogwood 
makes  a  fine  show  when  in  bloom.  The 
whole  tree  is  then  snowy  white.  The  invo- 
lucres are  six  to  eight  inches  wide.  Along 
the  streams  it  is  a  good-sized  tree  thirty  to 
fifty  feet  high,  with  a  broad  head  when  not 
crowded  by  companions.  Its  showy  invo- 
lucres attract  a  crowd  of  moths,  butterflies, 
and  other  winged  people  about  it  for  their 
own  and,  I  suppose,  the  tree's  advantage.  It 
[85  ] 


My  First  Summer 

likes  plenty  of  cool  water,  and  is  a  great 
drinker  like  the  alder,  willow,  and  cotton- 
wood,  and  flourishes  best  on  stream  banks, 
though  it  often  wanders  far  from  streams  in 
damp  shady  glens  beneath  the  pines,  where 
it  is  much  smaller.  When  the  leaves  ripen 
in  the  fall,  they  become  more  beautiful 
than  the  flowers,  displaying  charming  tones 
of  red,  purple,  and  lavender.  Another  species 
grows  in  abundance  as  a  chaparral  shrub 
on  the  shady  sides  of  the  hills,  probably 
Cornus  sessilis.  The  leaves  are  eaten  by  the 
sheep.  —  Heard  a  few  lightning  strokes  in 
the  distance,  with  rumbling,  mumbling  re- 
verberations. 

June  27. — The  beaked  hazel  (Cory/us 
rostrata,  var.  Californica]  is  common  on  cool 
slopes  up  toward  the  summit  of  the  Pilot 
Peak  Ridge.  There  is  something  peculiarly 
attractive  in  the  hazel,  like  the  oaks  and 
heaths  of  the  cool  countries  of  our  fore- 
fathers, and  through  them  our  love  for  these 
plants  has,  I  suppose,  been  transmitted.  This 
[  86  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

species  is  four  or  five  feet  high,  leaves  soft 
and  hairy,  grateful  to  the  touch,  and  the  de- 
licious nuts  are  eagerly  gathered  by  Indians 
and  squirrels.  The  sky  as  usual  adorned 
with  white  noon  clouds. 

"June  28.  —  Warm,  mellow  summer. 
The  glowing  sunbeams  make  every  nerve 
tingle.  The  new  needles  of  the  pines  and 
firs  are  nearly  full  grown  and  shine  glori- 
ously. Lizards  are  glinting  about  on  the  hot 
rocks;  some  that  live  near  the  camp  are 
more  than  half  tame.  They  seem  attentive  to 
every  movement  on  our  part,  as  if  curious  to 
simply  look  on  without  suspicion  of  harm, 
turning  their  heads  to  look  back,  and  making 
a  variety  of  pretty  gestures.  Gentle,  guileless 
creatures  with  beautiful  eyes,  I  shall  be  sorry 
to  leave  them  when  we  leave  camp. 

June  29.--!  have  been  making  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  very  interesting  little  bird 
that  flits  about  the  falls  and  rapids  of  the 
main  branches  of  the  river.  It  is  not  a 
water-bird  in  structure,  though  it  gets  its 
[  87  ] 


My  First  Summer 

living  in  the  water,  and  never  leaves  the 
streams.  It  is  not  web-footed,  yet  it  dives 
fearlessly  into  deep  swirling  rapids,  evi- 
dently to  feed  at  the  bottom,  using  its  wings 
to  swim  with  under  water  just  as  ducks  and 
loons  do.  Sometimes  it  wades  about  in 
shallow  places,  thrusting  its  head  under 
from  time  to  time  in  a  jerking,  nodding, 
frisky  way  that  is  sure  to  attract  attention. 
It  is  about  the  size  of  a  robin,  has  short  crisp 
wings  serviceable  for  flying  either  in  water 
or  air,  and  a  tail  of  moderate  size  slanted 
upward,  giving  it,  with  its  nodding,  bobbing 
manners,  a  wrennish  look.  Its  color  is  plain 
bluish  ash,  with  a  tinge  of  brown  on  the 
head  and  shoulders.  It  flies  from  fall  to  fall, 
rapid  to  rapid,  with  a  solid  whir  of  wing- 
beats  like  those  of  a  quail,  follows  the  wind- 
ings of  the  stream,  and  usually  alights  on 
some  rock  jutting  up  out  of  the  current,  or 
on  some  stranded  snag,  or  rarely  on  the  dry 
limb  of  an  overhanging  tree,  perching  like 
regular  tree  birds  when  it  suits  its  conven- 
[  88  ] 


In  the  Sierra 


ience.   It  has  the  oddest,  daintiest  mincing 
manners  imaginable;  and   the  little  fellow 

»can  sing  too,  a  sweet,  thrushy,  fluty  song, 
rather  low,  not  the  least  boisterous,  and 
much  less  keen  and  accentuated  than  from 
its  vigorous  briskness  one  would  be  led  to 
look  for.  What  a  romantic  life  this  little 
bird  leads  on  the  most  beautiful  portions  of 
the  streams,  in  a  genial  climate  with  shade 
and  cool  water  and  spray  to  temper  the 
summer  heat.  No  wonder  it  is  a  fine  singer, 
considering  the  stream  songs  it  hears  day 
and  night.  Every  breath  the  little  poet 
draws  is  part  of  a  song,  for  all  the  air  about 
the  rapids  and  falls  is  beaten  into  music, 
and  its  first  lessons  must  begin  before  it  is 
born  by  the  thrilling  and  quivering  of  the 
eggs  in  unison  with  the  tones  of  the  falls.  I 
have  not  yet  found  its  nest,  but  it  must  be 
near  the  streams,  for  it  never  leaves  them. 

June  30.  —  Half  cloudy ,  half  sunny,  clouds 
lustrous    white.    The   tall    pines    crowded 
along  the  top  of  the  Pilot  Peak  Ridge  look 
[  89] 


My  First  Summer 

like  six-inch  miniatures  exquisitely  out- 
lined on  the  satiny  sky.  Average  cloudiness 
for  the  day  about  .25.  No  rain.  And  so  this 
memorable  month  ends,  a  stream  of  beauty 
unmeasured,  no  more  to  be  sectioned  off 
by  almanac  arithmetic  than  sun-radiance 
or  the  currents  of  seas  and  rivers — a  peace- 
ful, joyful  stream  of  beauty.  Every  morning, 
arising  from  the  death  of  sleep,  the  happy 
plants  and  all  our  fellow  animal  creatures 
great  and  small,  and  even  the  rocks,  seemed 
to  be  shouting,  "Awake,  awake,  rejoice, 
rejoice,  come  love  us  and  join  in  our  song. 
Come!  Come!"  Looking  back  through  the 
stillness  and  romantic  enchanting  beauty  and 
peace  of  the  camp  grove,  this  June  seems 
the  greatest  of  all  the  months  of  my  life, 
the  most  truly,  divinely  free,  boundless  like 
eternity,  immortal.  -Everything  in  it  seems 
equally  divine  —  one  smooth,  pure,  wild 
glow  of  Heaven's  love,  never  to  be  blotted 
or  blurred  by  anything  past  or  to  come. 
July  i .  —  Summer  is  ripe.  Flocks  of  seeds 
[90] 


In  the  Sierra 

are  already  out  of  their  cups  and  pods  seek- 
ing their  predestined  places.  Some  will  strike 
root  and  grow  up  beside  their  parents,  others 
flying  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  far  from 
them,  among  strangers.  Most  of  the  young 
birds  are  full  feathered  and  out  of  their  nests, 
though  still  looked  after  by  both  father  and 
lother,  protected  and  fed  and  to  some  ex- 
:ent  educated.  How  beautiful  the  home  life 
of  birds  !  .No  wonder  we  all  love  them. 

I  like  to  watch  the  squirrels.  There  are 
two  species  here,  the  large  California  gray 
and  the  Douglas.  The  latter  is  the  brightest 
of  all  the  squirrels  I  have  ever  seen,  a  hot 
spark  of  life,  making  every  tree  tingle  with 
his  prickly  toes,  a  condensed  nugget  of  fresh 
mountain  vigor  and  valor,  as  free  from  dis- 
ease as  a  sunbeam.  One  cannot  think  of 
such  an  animal  ever  being  weary  or  sick. 
He  seems  to  think  the  mountains  belong  to 
him,  and  at  first  tried  to  drive  away  the 
whole  flock  of  sheep  as  well  as  the  shepherd 
and  dogs.  How  he  scolds,  and  what  faces 


My  First  Summer 

he  makes,  all  eyes,  teeth,  and  whiskers !  If 
not  so  comically  small,  he  would  indeed  be 
a  dreadful  fellow.  I  should  like  to  know 
more  about  his  bringing  up,  his  life  in  the 
home  knot-hole,  as  wrell  as  in  the  tree-tops, 


DOUGLAS  SQUIRREL  OBSERVING  BROTHER  MAN 

throughout  all  seasons.  Strange  that  I  have 
not  yet  found  a  nest  full  of  young  ones.  The 
Douglas  is  nearly  allied  to  the  red  squirrel 
of  the  Atlantic  slope,  and  may  have  been  dis- 
tributed to  this  side  of  the  continent  by  way 
of  the  great  unbroken  forests  of  the  north. 
[  92  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

The  California  gray  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful,  and,  next  to  the  Douglas,  the 
most  interesting  of  our  hairy  neighbors. 
Compared  with  the  Douglas  he  is  twice  as 
large,  but  far  less  lively  and  influential  as 
a  worker  in  the  woods,  and  he  manages  to 
make  his  way  through  leaves  and  branches 
with  less  stir  than  his  small  brother.  I  have 
never  heard  him  bark  at  anything  except 
our  dogs.  When  in  search  of  food  he  glides 
silently  from  branch  to  branch,  examining 
last  year's  cones,  to  see  whether  some  few 
seeds  may  not  be  left  between  the  scales, 
or  gleans  fallen  ones  among  the  leaves  on 
the  ground,  since  none  of  the  present  sea- 
son's crop  is  yet  available.  His  tail  floats 
now  behind  him,  now  above  him,  level 
or  gracefully  curled  like  a  wisp  of  cirrus 
cloud,  every  hair  in  its  place,  clean  and 
shining  and  radiant  as  thistle-down  in  spite 
of  rough,  gummy  work.  His  whole  body 
seems  about  as  unsubstantial  as  his  tail.  The 
little  Douglas  is  fiery,  peppery,  full  of  brag 
[93  ] 


My  First  Summer 

and  fight  and  show,  with  movements  so 
quick  and  keen  they  almost  sting  the  on- 
looker, and  the  harlequin  gyrating  show 
he  makes  of  himself  turns  one  giddy  to  see. 
The  gray  is  shy,  and  oftentimes  stealthy  in 
his  movements,  as  if  half  expecting  an  enemy 
in  every  tree  and  bush,  and  back  of  every 
log,  wishing  only  to  be  let  alone  apparently, 
and  manifesting  no  desire  to  be  seen  or 
admired  or  feared.  The  Indians  hunt  this 
species  for  food,  a  good  cause  for  caution, 
not  to  mention  other  enemies,  —  hawks, 
snakes,  wild  cats.  In  woods  where  food  is 
abundant  they  wear  paths  through  shelter- 
ing thickets  and  over  prostrate  trees  to  some 
favorite  pool  where  in  hot  and  dry  weather 
they  drink  at  nearly  the  same  hour  every 
day.  These  pools  are  said  to  be  narrowly 
watched,  especially  by  the  boys,  who  lie  in 
ambush  with  bow  and  arrow,  and  kill  with- 
out noise.  But,  in  spite  of  enemies,  squirrels 
are  happy  fellows,  forest  favorites,  types  of 
tireless  life.  Of  all  Nature's  wild  beasts,  they 
[94  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

seem  to  me  the  wildest.   May  we  come  to 
know  each  other  better. 

The  chaparral-covered  hill-slope  to  the 
south  of  the  camp,  besides  furnishing  nest- 
ing-places for  countless  merry  birds,  is  the 
home  and  hiding-place  of  the  curious  wood 
rat  (Neotoma),  a  handsome,  interesting  ani- 
mal, always  attracting  attention  wherever 
seen.  It  is  more  like  a  squirrel  than  a  rat,  is 
much  larger,  has  delicate,  thick,  soft  fur  of 
a  bluish  slate  color,  white  on  the  belly;  ears 
large,  thin,  and  translucent ;  eyes  soft,  full, 
and  liquid;  claws  slender,  sharp  as  needles; 
and  as  his  limbs  are  strong,  he  can  climb 
about  as  well  as  a  squirrel.  No  rat  or  squir- 
rel has  so  innocent  a  look,  is  so  easily  ap- 
proached, or  expresses  such  confidence  in 
one's  good  intentions.  He  seems  too  fine  for 
the  thorny  thickets  he  inhabits,  and  his  hut 
also  is  as  unlike  himself  as  may  be,  though 
softly  furnished  inside.  No  other  animal  in- 
habitant of  these  mountains  builds  houses  so 
large  and  striking  in  appearance.  The  trav- 
[95  ] 


My  First  Summer 

eler  coming  suddenly  upon  a  group  of  them 
for  the  first  time  will  not  be  likely  to  forget 
them.  They  are  built  of  all  kinds  of  sticks, 
old  rotten  pieces  picked  up  anywhere,  and 
green  prickly  twigs  bitten  from  the  nearest 
bushes,  the  whole  mixed  with  miscellaneous 
odds  and  ends  of  everything  movable,  such 
as  bits  of  cloddy  earth,  stones,  bones,  deer- 
horn,  etc.,  piled  up  in  a  conical  mass  as 
if  it  were  got  ready  for  burning.  Some  of 
these  curious  cabins  are  six  feet  high  and  as 
wide  at  the  base,  and  a  dozen  or  more  of 
them  are  occasionally  grouped  together,  less 
perhaps  for  the  sake  of  society  than  for  advan- 
tages of  food  and  shelter.  Coming  through 
the  dense  shaggy  thickets  of  some  lonely 
hillside,  the  solitary  explorer  happening  into 
one  of  these  strange  villages  is  startled  at  the 
sight,  and  may  fancy  himself  in  an  Indian 
settlement,  and  begin  to  wonder  what  kind 
of  reception  he  is  likely  to  get.  But  no  sav- 
age face  will  he  see,  perhaps  not  a  single 
inhabitant,  or  at  most  two  or  three  seated 
[96] 


In  the  Sierra 

on  top  of  their  wigwams,  looking  at  the 
stranger  with  the  mildest  of  wild  eyes,  and 
allowing  a  near  approach.  In  the  centre  of 
the  rough  spiky  hut  a  soft  nest  is  made  of 
the  inner  fibres  of  bark  chewed  to  tow,  and 
lined  with  feathers  and  the  down  of  vari- 
ous seeds,  such  as  willow  and  milkweed. 
The  delicate  creature  in  its  prickly,  thick- 
walled  home  suggests  a  tender  flower  in  a 
thorny  involucre.  Some  of  the  nests  are 
built  in  trees  thirty  or  forty  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  even  in  garrets,  as  if  seeking 
the  company  and  protection  of  man,  like 
swallows  and  linnets,  though  accustomed  to 
the  wildest  solitude.  Among  housekeepers 
Neotoma  has  the  reputation  of  a  thief,  be- 
cause he  carries  away  everything  transport- 
able to  his  queer  hut,  —  knives,  forks, 
combs,  nails,  tin  cups,  spectacles,  etc.,  — 
merely,  however,  to  strengthen  his  forti- 
fications, I  guess.  His  food  at  home,  as  far 
as  I  have  learned,  is  nearly  the  same  as  that 
of  the  squirrels,  -  -  nuts,  berries,  seeds,  and 
[97  ] 


My  First  Summer 

sometimes  the  bark  and  tender  shoots  of  the 
various  species  of  ceanothus. 

"July  2. --Warm,  sunny  day,  thrilling 
plant  and  animals  and  rocks  alike,  making 
sap  and  blood  flow  fast,  and  making  every 
particle  of  the  crystal  mountains  throb  and 
swirl  and  dance  in  glad  accord  like  star-dust. 
No  dullness  anywhere  visible  or  thinkable. 
No  stagnation,  no  death.  Everything  kept 
in  joyful  rhythmic  motion  in  the  pulses  of 
Nature's  big  heart. 

Pearl  cumuli  over  the  higher  mountains, 
—  clouds,  not  with  a  silver  lining,  but  all 
silver.  The  brightest,  crispest,  rockiest-look- 
ing clouds,  most  varied  in  features  and 
keenest  in  outline  I  ever  saw  at  any  time  of 
year  in  any  country.  The  daily  building  and 
unbuilding  of  these  snowy  cloud-ranges  — 
the  highest  Sierra  —  is  a  prime  marvel  to 
me, and  I  gaze  at  the  stupendous  white  domes, 
miles  high,  with  ever  fresh  admiration.  But 
in  the  midst  of  these  sky  and  mountain  af- 
fairs a  change  of  diet  is  pulling  us  down. 
[98  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

We  have  been  out  of  bread  a  few  days,  and 
begin  to  miss  it  more  than  seems  reasonable, 
for  we  have  plenty  of  meat  and  sugar  and  tea. 
Strange  we  should  feel  food-poor  in  so  rich 
a  wilderness.  The  Indians  put  us  to  shame, 
so  do  the  squirrels,  —  starchy  roots  and  seeds 
and  bark  in  abundance,  yet  the  failure  of  the 
meal  sack  disturbs  our  bodily  balance,  and 
threatens  our  best  enjoyments. 

July  j.  —  Warm.  Breeze  just  enough  to 
sift  through  the  woods  and  waft  fragrance 
from  their  thousand  fountains.  The  pine 
and  fir  cones  are  growing  well,  resin  and 
balsam  dripping  from  every  tree,  and  seeds 
are  ripening  fast,  promising  a  fine  harvest. 
The  squirrels  will  have  bread.  They  eat  all 
kinds  of  nuts  long  before  they  are  ripe,  and 
yet  never  seem  to  suffer  in  stomach. 

July  4.  —  The  air  beyond  the  flock 
range,  full  of  the  essences  of  the  woods, 
is  growing  sweeter  and  more  fragrant  from 
day  to  day,  like  ripening  fruit. 

Mr.  Delaney  is  expected  to  arrive  soon 
[99] 


My  First  Summer 

from  the  lowlands  with  a  new  stock  of 
provisions,  and  as  the  flock  is  to  be  moved 
to  fresh  pastures  we  shall  all  be  well  fed. 
In  the  mean  time  our  stock  of  beans  as 
well  as  flour  has  failed  —  everything  but 
mutton,  sugar,  and  tea.  The  shepherd  is 
somewhat  demoralized,  and  seems  to  care 
but  little  what  becomes  of  his  flock.  He 
says  that  since  the  boss  has  failed  to  feed 
him  he  is  not  rightly  bound  to  feed  the 
sheep,  and  swears  that  no  decent  white 
man  can  climb  these  steep  mountains  on 
mutton  alone.  "  It  's  not  fittin'  grub  for  a 
white  man  really  white.  For  dogs  and  coy- 
otes and  Indians  it  Js  different.  Good  grub, 
good  sheep.  That  Js  what  I  say/'  Such  was 
Billy's  Fourth  of  July  oration. 

Jufy  5.  —  The  clouds  of  noon  on  the 
high  Sierra  seem  yet  more  marvelously,  in- 
describably beautiful  from  day  to  day  as 
one  becomes  more  wakeful  to  see  them. 
The  smoke  of  the  gunpowder  burned  yes- 
terday on  the  lowlands,  and  the  eloquence 


In  the  Sierra 

of  the  orators  has  probably  settled  or  been 
blown  away  by  this  time.  Here  every  day 
is  a  holiday,  a  jubilee  ever  sounding  with 
serene  enthusiasm,  without  wear  or  waste  or 
cloying  weariness.  Everything  rejoicing. 
Not  a  single  cell  or  crystal  unvisited  or  for- 
gotten. 

July  6.  —  Mr.  Delaney  has  not  arrived, 
and  the  bread  famine  is  sore.  We  must  eat 
mutton  a  while  longer,  though  it  seems  hard 
to  get  accustomed  to  it.  I  have  heard  of 
Texas  pioneers  living  without  bread  or  any- 
thing made  from  the  cereals  for  months 
without  suffering,  using  the  breast-meat  of 
wild  turkeys  for  bread.  Of  this  kind  they 
had  plenty  in  the  good.old  days  when  life, 
though  considered  less  safe,  was  fussed  over 
the  less.  The  trappers  and  fur  traders  of 
early  days  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  regions 
lived  on  bison  and  beaver  meat  for  months. 
Salmon-eaters,  too,  there  are  among  both 
Indians  and  whites  who  seem  to  suffer  little 
or  not  at  all  from  the  want  of  bread.  Just 


My  First  Summer 

at  this  moment  mutton  seems  the  least  de- 
sirable of  food,  though  of  good  quality.  We 
pick  out  the  leanest  bits,  and  down  they 
go  against  heavy  disgust,  causing  nausea 
and  an  effort  to  reject  the  offensive  stuff. 
Tea  makes  matters  worse,  if  possible.  The 
stomach  begins  to  assert  itself  as  an  inde- 
pendent creature  with  a  will  of  its  own. 
We  should  boil  lupine  leaves,  clover,  starchy 
petioles,  and  saxifrage  rootstocks  like  the 
Indians.  We  try  to  ignore  our  gastric 
troubles,  rise  and  gaze  about  us,  turn  our 
eyes  to  the  mountains,  and  climb  doggedly 
up  through  brush  and  rocks  into  the  heart 
of  the  scenery.  A  stifled  calm  cpmes  on, 
and  the  day's  duties  and  even  enjoyments 
are  languidly  got  through  with.  We  chew 
a  few  leaves  of  ceanothus  by  way  of  lunch- 
eon, and  smell  or  chew  the  spicy  monardella 
for  the  dull  headache  and  stomach-ache 
that  now  lightens,  now  comes  muffling 
down  upon  us  and  into  us  like  fog.  At  night 
more  mutton,  flesh  to  flesh,  down  with  it, 
[  102  ] 


s 

i 


In  the  Sierra 

not  too  much,  and  there  are  the  stars  shin- 
ing through  the  cedar  plumes  and  branches 
hove  our  beds. 

July  7.  -  -  Rather  weak  and  sickish  this 
morning,  and  all   about  a  piece  of  bread, 
an  scarce  command  attention  to  my  best 
studies,  as  if  one  could  n't  take  a  few  days' 

;aunter  in  the  Godful  woods  without  main- 
aining  a  base  on  a  wheat-field  and  grist- 
nill.  Like  caged  parrots  we  want  a  cracker, 
any  of  the  hundred  kinds,  —  the  remainder 
biscuit  of  a  voyage  around  the  world  would 
answer  well  enough,  nor  would  the  whole- 
someness  of  saleratus  biscuit  be  questioned. 
Bread  without  flesh  is  a  good  diet,  as  on  many 
botanical  excursions  I  have  proved.  Tea 
also  may  easily  be  ignored.  Just  bread  and 
water  and  delightful  toil  is  all  I  need,  —  not 
unreasonably  much,  yet  one  ought  to  be 
trained  and  tempered  to  enjoy  life  in  these 
brave  wilds  in  full  independence  of  any  par- 
ticular kind  of  nourishment.  That  this  may 
be  accomplished  is  manifest,  as  far  as  bodily 
[  103  1 


My  First  Summer 

welfare  is  concerned,  in  the  lives  of  people 
of  other  climes.  The  Eskimo,  for  example, 
gets  a  living  far  north  of  the  wheat  line, 
from  oily  seals  and  whales.  Meat,  berries, 
bitter  weeds,  and  blubber,  or  only  the  last, 
for  months  at  a  time;  and  yet  these  people 
all  around  the  frozen  shores  of  our  conti- 
nent are  said  to  be  hearty,  jolly,  stout,  and 
brave.  We  hear,  too,  of  fish-eaters,  carniv- 
orous as  spiders,  yet  well  enough  as  far  as 
stomachs  are  concerned,  while  we  are  so 
ridiculously  helpless,  making  wry  faces  over 
our  fare,  looking  sheepish  in  digestive  dis- 
tress amid  rumbling,  grumbling  sounds  that 
might  well  pass  for  smothered  baas.  We 
have  a  large  supply  of  sugar,  and  this  evening 
it  occurred  to  me  that  these  belligerent 
stomachs  might  possibly,  like  complaining 
children,  be  coaxed  with  candy.  Accord- 
ingly the  frying-pan  was  cleansed,  and  a 
lot  of  sugar  cooked  in  it  to  a  sort  of  wax, 
but  this  stuff  only  made  matters  worse. 
Man  seems  to  be  the  only  animal  whose 
[  104  ] 


, 


In  the  Sierra 


food  soils  him,  making  necessary  much 
washing  and  shield-like  bibs  and  napkins. 
Moles  living  in  the  earth  and  eating  slimy 
worms  are  yet  as  clean  as  seals  or  fishes, 
1  I  whose  lives  are  one  perpetual  wash.  And, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  squirrels  in  these  resiny 
woods  keep  themselves  clean  in  some  mys- 
terious way  ;  not  a  hair  is  sticky,  though 
they  handle  the  gummy  cones,  and  glide 
about  apparently  without  care.  The  birds, 
too,  are  clean,  though  they  seem  to  make  a 
good  deal  of  fuss  washing  and  cleaning 
their  feathers.  Certain  flies  and  ants  I  see 
are  in  a  fix,  entangled  and  sealed  up  in  the 
sugar-wax  we  threw  away,  like  some  of 
their  ancestors  in  amber.  Our  stomachs, 
like  tired  muscles,  are  sore  with  longsquirm- 
1  ing.  Once  I  was  very  hungry  in  the  Bona- 
venture  graveyard  near  Savannah,  Georgia, 
having  fasted  for  several  days;  then  the 
empty  stomach  seemed  to  chafe  in  much 
the  same  way  as  now,  and  a  somewhat 
similar  tenderness  and  aching  was  produced, 
[  105  ] 


My  First  Summer 

hard  to  bear,  though  the  pain  was  not  acute. 
We  dream  of  bread,  a  sure  sign  we  need  it. 
Like  the  Indians,  we  ought  to  know  how 
to  get  the  starch  out  of  fern  and  saxifrage 
stalks,  lily  bulbs,  pine  bark,  etc.  Our  edu- 
cation has  been  sadly  neglected  for  many 
generations.  Wild  rice  would  be  good.  I 
noticed  a  leersia  in  wet  meadow  edges,  but 
the  seeds  are  small.  Acorns  are  not  ripe, 
nor  pine  nuts,  nor  filberts.  The  inner  bark 
of  pine  or  spruce  might  be  tried.  Drank 
tea  until  half  intoxicated.  Man  seems  to 
crave  a  stimulant  when  anything  extraor- 
dinary is  going  on,  and  this  is  the  only  one 
I  use.  Billy  chews  great  quantities  of  to- 
bacco, which  I  suppose  helps  to  stupefy  and 
moderate  his  misery.  We  look  and  listen 
for  the  Don  every  hour.  How  beautiful 
upon  the  mountains  his  big  feet  would 
be! 

In  the  warm,  hospitable  Sierra,  shepherds 

and  mountain  men  in  general,  as  far  as  I 

have  seen,  are  easily  satisfied  as  to  food  sup- 

[  106  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

>lies  and  bedding.  Most  of  them  are  heartily 
:ontent  to  "  rough  it,"  ignoring  Nature's 
ineness  as  bothersome   or  unmanly.    The 
shepherd's  bed  is  often  only  the  bare  ground 
ind  a  pair  of  blankets,  with  a  stone,  a  piece 
>f  wood,  or  a  pack-saddle  for  a  pillow.   In 
:hoosing  the  spot,  he  shows  less  care  than 
:he  dogs,  for  they  usually  deliberate  before 
taking  up  their  minds  in  so  important  an 
iffair,  going  from  place  to  place,  scraping 
iway  loose  sticks  and  pebbles,  and  trying 
for    comfort    by    making    many    changes, 
rhile  the  shepherd  casts  himself  down  any- 
where, seemingly  the   least  skilled  of  all 
rest  seekers.   His  food,  too,  even  when  he 
has  all  he  wants,  is  usually  far  from  delicate, 
either  in  kind  or  cooking.   Beans,  bread  of 
iny  sort,  bacon,  mutton,  dried  peaches,  and 
imetimes    potatoes  and   onions,   make  up 
his  bill-of-fare,  the  two  latter  articles  being 
regarded  as   luxuries   on   account    of  their 
weight  as  compared  with  the  nourishment 
they  contain;  a  half-sack    or   so    of  each 
[  107  ] 


My  First  Summer 

may  be  put  into  the  pack  in  setting  out 
from  the  home  ranch  and  in  a  few  days  they 
are  done.  Beans  are  the  main  standby,  port- 
able, wholesome,  and  capable  of  going  far, 
besides  being  easily  cooked,  although  curi- 
ously enough  a  great  deal  of  mystery  is  sup- 
posed to  lie  about  the  bean-pot.  No  two 
cooks  quite  agree  on  the  methods  of  mak- 
ing beans  do  their  best,  and,  after  petting 
and  coaxing  and  nursing  the  savory  mess,  — 
well  oiled  and  mellowed  with  bacon  boiled 
into  the  heart  of  it,  —  the  proud  cook  will 
ask,  after  dishing  out  a  quart  or  two  for 
trial,  "Well,  how  do  you  like  my  beans?" 
as  if  by  no  possibility  could  they  be  like 
any  other  beans  cooked  in  the  same  way, 
but  must  needs  possess  some  special  virtue 
of  which  he  alone  is  master.  Molasses, 
sugar,  or  pepper  may  be  used  to  give  desired 
flavors;  or  the  first  water  may  be  poured 
off  and  a  spoonful  or  two  of  ashes  or  soda 
added  to  dissolve  or  soften  the  skins  more 
fully,  according  to  various  tastes  and  notions. 
[  108  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

But,  like  casks  of  wine,  no  two  potfuls  are 
exactly  alike  to  every  palate.  Some  are  sup- 
posed to  be  spoiled  by  the  moon,  by  some 
unlucky  day,  by  the  beans  having  been 
grown  on  soil  not  suitable;  or  the  whole 
year  may  be  to  blame  as  not  favorable  for 
beans. 

Coffee,  too,  has  its  marvels  in  the  camp 
kitchen,  but  not  so  many,  and  not  so  inscru- 
table as  those  that  beset  the  bean-pot.  A 
low  complacent  grunt  follows  a  mouthful 
drawn  in  with  a  gurgle,  and  the  remark 
cast  forth  aimlessly,  "That's  good  coffee/' 
Then  another  gurgling  sip  and  repetition 
of  the  judgment,  "  Tes9  sir,  that  is  good 
coffee."  As  to  tea,  there  are  but  two  kinds, 
weak  and  strong,  the  stronger  the  better. 
The  only  remark  heard  is,  "  That  tea  's 
weak,"  otherwise  it  is  good  enough  and  not 
worth  mentioning.  If  it  has  been  boiled 
an  hour  or  two  or  smoked  on  a  pitchy  fire, 
no  matter,  -  -  who  cares  for  a  little  tannin  or 
creosote  ?  they  make  the  black  beverage  all 
[  109] 


My  First  Summer 

the  stronger  and  more  attractive  to  tobacco- 
tanned  palates. 

Sheep-camp  bread,  like  most  California 
camp  bread,  is  baked  in  Dutch  ovens,  some  of 
it  in  the  form  of  yeast  powder  biscuit,  an  un- 
wholesome sticky  compound  leading  straight 
to  dyspepsia.  The  greater  part,  however, 
is  fermented  with  sour  dough,  a  handful 
from  each  batch  being  saved  and  put  away 
in  the  mouth  of  the  flour  sack  to  inoculate 
the  next.  The  oven  is  simply  a  cast-iron 
pot,  about  five  inches  deep  and  from  twelve 
to  eighteen  inches  wide.  After  the  batch 
has  been  mixed  and  kneaded  in  a  tin  pan, 
the  oven  is  slightly  heated  and  rubbed  with 
a  piece  of  tallow  or  pork  rind.  The  dough 
is  then  placed  in  it,  pressed  out  against  the 
sides,  and  left  to  rise.  When  ready  for  bak- 
ing a  shovelful  of  coals  is  spread  out  by 
the  side  of  the  fire  and  the  oven  set  upon 
them,  while  another  shovelful  is  placed  on 
top  of  the  lid,  which  is  raised  from  time  to 
time  to  see  that  the  requisite  amount  of  heat 
[  no] 


In  the  Sierra 

is  being  kept  up.  With  care  good  bread 
may  be  made  in  this  way,  though  it  is  liable 
to  be  burned  or  to  be  sour,  or  raised  too 
much,  and  the  weight  of  the  oven  is  a  se- 
rious objection. 

At  last  Don  Delaney  comes  doon  the 
lang  glen,  —  hunger  vanishes,  we  turn  our 
eyes  to  the  mountains,  and  to-morrow  we 
go  climbing  toward  cloudland. 

Never  while  anything  is  left  of  me  shall 
this  first  camp  be  forgotten.  It  has  fairly 
grown  into  me,  not  merely  as  memory 
pictures,  but  as  part  and  parcel  of  mind  and 
body  alike.  The  deep  hopper-like  hollow, 
with  its  majestic  trees  through  which  all 
the  wonderful  nights  the  stars  poured  their 
beauty.  The  flowery  wildness  of  the  high 
steep  slope  toward  Brown's  Flat,  and  its 
bloom-fragrance  descending  at  the  close  of 
the  still  days.  The  embowered  river-reaches 
with  their  multitude  of  voices  making  mel- 
ody, the  stately  flow  and  rush  and  glad  ex- 
ulting onsweeping  currents  caressing  the 

t  in  ] 


My  First  Summer 

dipping  sedge-leaves  and  bushes  and  mossy 
stones,  swirling  in  pools,  dividing  against 
little  flowery  islands,  breaking  gray  and 
white  here  and  there,  ever  rejoicing,  yet 
with  deep  solemn  undertones  recalling  the 
ocean, — the  brave  little  bird  ever  beside 
them,  singing  with  sweet  human  tones 
among  the  waltzing  foam-bells,  and  like  a 
blessed  evangel  explaining  God's  love.  And 
the  Pilot  Peak  Ridge,  its  long  withdrawing 
slopes  gracefully  modeled  and  braided, 
reaching  from  climate  to  climate,  feathered 
with  trees  that  are  the  kings  of  their  race, 
their  ranks  nobly  marshaled  to  view,  spire 
above  spire,  crown  above  crown,  waving 
their  long,  leafy  arms,  tossing  their  cones 
like  ringing  bells,  — blessed  sun-fed  moun- 
taineers rejoicing  in  their  strength,  every 
tree  tuneful,  a  harp  for  the  winds  and  the 
sun.  The  hazel  and  buckthorn  pastures  of 
the  deer,  the  sun-beaten  brows  purple  and 
yellow  with  mint  and  golden-rods,  carpeted 
with  chamoebatia,  humming  with  bees. 
[ 


A  Mountain  Stream 


In  the  Sierra 

And  the  dawns  and  sunrises  and  sundowns 
of  these  mountain  days,  —  the  rose  light 
creeping  higher  among  the  stars,  changing 
to  daffodil  yellow,  the  level  beams  bursting 
forth,  streaming  across  the  ridges,  touch- 
ing pine  after  pine,  awakening  and  warm- 
ing all  the  mighty  host  to  do  gladly  their 
shining  day's  work.  The  great  sun-gold 
noons,  the  alabaster  cloud-mountains,  the 
landscape  beaming  with  consciousness  like 
the  face  of  a  god.  The  sunsets,  when  the 
trees  stood  hushed  awaiting  their  good- 
night blessings.  Divine,  enduring,  unwast- 
able  wealth. 

July  8.  -  -Now  away  we  go  toward  the 
topmost  mountains.  Many  still,  small 
voices,  as  well  as  the  noon  thunder,  are  call- 
ing, "  Come  higher.''  Farewell,  blessed 
dell,  woods,  gardens,  streams,  birds,  squirrels, 
lizards,  and  a  thousand  others.  Farewell. 
Farewell. 

Up  through  the  woods  the  hoofed  locusts 
streamed  beneath  a, cloud  of  brown  dust. 


My  First  Summer 

Scarcely  were  they  driven  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  old  corral  ere  they  seemed  to  know 
that  at  last  they  were  going  to  new  pastures, 
and  rushed  wildly  ahead,  crowding  through 
gaps  in  the  brush,  jumping,  tumbling  like 
exulting,  hurrahing  flood-waters  escaping 
through  a  broken  dam.  A  man  on  each  flank 
kept  shouting  advice  to  the  leaders,  who 
in  their  famishing  condition  were  behaving 
like  Gadarene  swine;  two  other  drivers  were 
busy  with  stragglers,  helping  them  out  of 
brush-tangles ;  the  Indian,  calm,  alert,  silently 
watched  for  wanderers  likely  to  be  over- 
looked; the  two  dogs  ran  here  and  there, 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  was  best  to  be 
done,  while  the  Don,  soon  far  in  the  rear, 
was  trying  to  keep  in  sight  of  his  trouble- 
some wealth. 

As  soon  as  the  boundary  of  the  old  eaten- 
out  range  was  passed  the  hungry  horde  sud- 
denly became  calm,  like  a  mountain  stream 
in  a  meadow.  Thenceforward  they  were 
allowed  to  eat  their  way  as  slowly  as  they 


I 


In  the  Sierra 

wished,  care  being  taken  only  to  keep  them 
headed  toward  the  summit  of  the  Merced 
and  Tuolumne  divide.  Soon  the  two  thou- 
sand flattened  paunches  were  bulged  out  with 
sweet-pea  vines  and  grass,  and  the  gaunt, 
desperate  creatures,  more  like  wolves  than 


DIVIDE    BETWEEN    THE    TUOLUMNE    AND    THE    MERCED, 
BELOW    HAZEL    GREEN 

sheep,  became  bland  and  governable,  while 
the  howling  drivers  chanjed  to  gentle  shep- 
herds, and  sauntered  in  peace. 

Toward  sundown  we  reached  Hazel 
Green,  a  charming  spot  on  the  summit  of 
the  dividing  ridge  between  the  basins  of  the 


My  First  Summer 

Merced  and  Tuolumne,  where  there  is  a 
small  brook  flowing  through  hazel  and  dog- 
wood thickets  beneath  magnificent  silver  firs 
and  pines.  Here  we  are  camped  for  the  night, 
our  big  fire,  heaped  high  with  rosiny  logs 
and  branches,  is  blazing  like  a  sunrise,  gladly 
giving  back  the  light  slowly  sifted  from  the 
sunbeams  of  centuries  of  summers ;  and  in  the 
glow  of  that  old  sunlight  how  impressively 
surrounding  objects  are  brought  forward  in 
relief  against  the  outer  darkness !  Grasses, 
larkspurs,  columbines,  lilies,  hazel  bushes, 
and  the  great  trees  form  a  circle  around  the 
fire  like  thoughtful  spectators,  gazing  and 
listening  with  human-like  enthusiasm.  The 
night  breeze  is  cool,  for  all  day  we  have  been 
climbing  into  the  upper  sky,  the  home  of  the 
cloud  mountains  we  so  long  have  admired. 
How  sweet  and  keen  the  air !  Every  breath 
a  blessing.  Here  the  sugar  pine  reaches  its 
fullest  development  in  size  and  beauty  and 
number  of  individuals,  filling  every  swell  and 
hollow  and  down-plunging  ravine  almost  to 
[  116] 


In  the  Sierra 

the  exclusion  of  other  species.  A  few  yel- 
low pines  are  still  to  be  found  as  com- 
panions, and  in  the  coolest  places  silver 
firs;  but  noble  as  these  are,  the  sugar  pine 
is  king,  and  spreads  long  protecting  arms 
above  them  while  they  rock  and  wave  in 
sign  of  recognition. 

We  have  now  reached  a  height  of  six 
thousand  feet.  In  the  forenoon  we  passed 
along  a  flat  part  of  the  dividing  ridge  that 
is  planted  with  manzanita  (Arctostapbylos}, 
some  specimens  the  largest  I  have  seen.  I 
measured  one,  the  bole  of  which  is  four  feet 
in  diameter  and  only  eighteen  inches  high 
from  the  ground,  where  it  dissolves  into 
many  wide-spreading  branches  forming  a 
broad  round  head  about  ten  ,or  twelve  feet 
high,  covered  with  clusters  of  small  narrow- 
throated  pink  bells.  The  leaves  are  pale 
green,  glandular,  and  set  on  edge  by  a  twist 
of  the  petiole.  The  branches  seem  naked; 
for  the  chocolate -colored  bark  is  very 
smooth  and  thin,  and  is  shed  off  in  flakes 
[  117] 


My  First  Summer 

that  curl  when  dry.  The  wood  is  red,  close- 
grained,  hard,  and  heavy.  I  wonder  how 
old  these  curious  tree-bushes  are,  probably 
as  old  as  the  great  pines.  Indians  and  bears 
and  birds  and  fat  grubs  feast  on  the  berries, 
which  look  like  small  apples,  often  rosy  on 
one  side,  green  on  the  other.  The  Indians 
are  said  to  make  a  kind  of  beer  or  cider 
out  of  them.  There  are  many  species.  This 
QnCtArctostapbyIospungens9\$  common  here- 
abouts. No  need  have  they  to  fear  the  wind, 
so  low  they  are  and  steadfastly  rooted.  Even 
the  fires  that  sweep  the  woods  seldom  destroy 
them  utterly,  for  they  rise  again  from  the 
root,  and  some  of  the  dry  ridges  they  grow 
on  are  seldom  touched  by  fire.  I  must  try  to 
know  them  better. 

I  miss  my  river  songs  to-night.  Here 
Hazel  Creek  at  its  topmost  springs  has  a 
voice  like  a  bird.  The  wind-tones  in  the 
great  trees  overhead  are  strangely  impres- 
sive, all  the  more  because  not  a  leaf  stirs 
below  them.  But  it  grows  late,  and  I  must  to 
[  118  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

bed.  The  camp  is  silent ;  everybody  asleep. 
It  seems  extravagant  to  spend  hours  so 
precious  in  sleep.  "  He  giveth  his  be- 
loved sleep."  Pity  the  poor  beloved  needs 
it,  weak,  weary,  forspent;  oh,  the  pity  of 
it,  to  sleep  in  the  midst  of  eternal,  beautiful 
motion  instead  of  gazing  forever,  like  the 
stars. 

July  9. —  Exhilarated  with  the  mountain 
air,  I  feel  like  shouting  this  morning  with 
excess  of  wild  animal  joy.  The  Indian  lay 
down  away  from  the  fire  last  night,  without 
blankets,  having  nothing  on,  by  way  of  cloth- 
ing, but  a  pair  of  blue  overalls  and  a  calico 
shirt  wet  with  sweat.  The  night  air  is  chilly 
at  this  elevation,  and  we  gave  him  some 
horse-blankets,  but  he  did  n't  seem  to  care 
for  them.  A  fine  thing  to  be  independent  of 
clothing  where  it  is  so  hard  to  carry.  When 
food  is  scarce,  he  can  live  on  whatever  comes 
in  his  way,  —  a  few  berries,  roots,  bird  eggs, 
grasshoppers,  black  ants,  fat  wasp  or  bum- 
blebee larvae,  without  feeling  that  he  is  doing 


My  First  Summer 

anything  worth    mention,  so  I  have  been 
told. 

Our  course  to-day  was  along  the  broad 
top  of  the  main  ridge  to  a  hollow  beyond 
Crane  Flat.  It  is  scarce  at  all  rocky,  and  is 
covered  with  the  noblest  pines  and  spruces 
I  have  yet  seen.  Sugar  pines  from  six  to 
eight  feet  in  diameter  are  not  uncommon, 
with  a  height  of  two  hundred  feet  or  even 
more.  The  silver  firs  (Abies  concolor  and  A. 
magnified}  are  exceedingly  beautiful,  espe- 
cially the  magnified,  which  becomes  more 
abundant  the  higher  we  go.  It  is  of  great 
size,  one  of  the  most  notable  in  every  way 
of  the  giant  conifers  of  the  Sierra.  I  saw 
specimens  that  measured  seven  feet  in  dia- 
meter and  over  two  hundred  feet  in  height, 
while  the  average  size  for  what  might  be 
called  full-grown  mature  trees  can  hardly  be 
less  than  one  hundred  and  eighty  or  two 
hundred  feet  high  and  five  or  six  feet  in 
diameter  ;  and  with  these  noble  dimensions 
there  is  a  symmetry  and  perfection  of  finish 

[    120] 


11 

al 

: 


In  the  Sierra 

not  to  be  seen  in  any  other  tree,  hereabout 
at  least.  The  branches  are  whorled  in  fives 
mostly,  and  stand  out  from  the  tall,  straight, 
exquisitely  tapered  bole  in  level  collars,  each 
branch  regularly  pinnated  like  the  fronds 
of  ferns,  and  densely  clad  with  leaves  all 
around  the  branchlets,  thus  giving  them  a 
singularly  rich  and  sumptuous  appearance. 
The  extreme  top  of  the  tree  is  a  thick  blunt 
shoot  pointing  straight  to  the  zenith  like  an 
admonishing  finger.  The  cones  stand  erect 
like  casks  on  the  upper  branches.  They  are 
bout  six  inches  long,  three  in  diameter, 
lunt,  velvety,  and  cylindrical  in  form,  and 
very  rich  and  precious  looking.  The  seeds 
are  about  three  quarters  of  an  inch  long, 
dark  reddish  brown  with  brilliant  irides- 
cent purple  wings,  and  when  ripe,  the 
cone  falls  to  pieces,  and  the  seeds  thus  set 
free  at  a  height  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
or  two  hundred  feet  have  a  good  send  off 
and  may  fly  considerable  distances  in  a 
good  breeze ;  and  it  is  when  a  good  breeze 


My  First  Summer 

is  blowing  that  most  of  them  are  shaken 
free  to  fly. 

The  other  species,  Abies  concolor,  attains 
nearly  as  great  a  height  and  thickness  as  the 
magnified,  but  the  branches  do  not  form 
such  regular  whorls,  nor  are  they  so  exactly 
pinnated  or  richly  leaf-clad.  Instead  of 
growing  all  around  the  branchlets,  the 
leaves  are  mostly  arranged  in  two  flat  hori- 
zontal rows.  The  cones  and  seeds  are  like 
those  of  the  magnified  in  form  but  less  than 
half  as  large.  The  bark  of  the  magnified  is 
reddish  purple  and  closely  furrowed,  that 
of  the  concolor  gray  and  widely  furrowed. 
A  noble  pair. 

At  Crane  Flat  we  climbed  a  thousand 
feet  or  more  in  a  distance  of  about  two 
miles,  the  forest  growing  more  dense  and 
the  silvery  magnified  fir  forming  a  still 
greater  portion  of  the  whole.  Crane  Flat 
is  a  meadow  with  a  wide  sandy  border  lying 
on  the  top  of  the  divide.  It  is  often  visited 
by  blue  cranes  to  rest  and  feed  on  their  long 

[    122   ] 


In  the  Sierra 

journeys,  hence  the  name.    It  is  about  half 
a    mile   long,   draining    into    the    Merced, 
;dgy  in  the  middle,  with  a  margin  bright 
ith   lilies,  columbines,  larkspurs,  lupines, 
:astilleia,  then  an  outer  zone  of  dry,  gently 
doping  ground  starred  with  a  multitude  of 
small   flowers, —  eunanus,   mimulus,   gilia, 
rith  rosettes  of  spraguea,and  tufts  of  several 
species    of   eriogonum    and     the    brilliant 
Luschneria.  The  noble  forest  wall  about  it  is 
iade  up  of  the  two  silver  firs  and  the  yellow 
ind  sugar  pines,  which  here  seem  to  reach 
their  highest  pitch  of  beauty  and  grandeur; 
for    the   elevation,   six  thousand   feet  or  a 
little  more,  is   not  too  great  for  the  sugar 
ind  yellow  pines  or  too  low  for  the   mag- 
lifica  fir,  while  the  concolor  seems  to  find 
:his   elevation  the  best  possible.    About  a 
lile  from  the  north  end  of  the  flat  there  is 
grove  of  Sequoia  gigantea,  the  king  of  all 
:he    conifers.    Furthermore,    the    Douglas 
spruce  (PseudotsugaDouglasii^  and  Libocedrus 
?currens,  and  a  few  two-leaved  pines,  occur 
[  123  ] 


My  First  Summer 

here  and  there,  forming  a  small  part  of  the 
forest.  Three  pines,  two  silver  firs,  one 
Douglas  spruce,  one  sequoia,  —  all  of  them, 
except  the  two-leaved  pine,  colossal  trees,  - 
are  found  here  together,  an  assemblage  of 
conifers  unrivaled  on  the  globe. 

We  passed  a  number  of  charming  gar- 
den-like meadows  lying  on  top  of  the 
divide  or  hanging  like  ribbons  down  its 
sides,  imbedded  in  the  glorious  forest.  Some 
are  taken  up  chiefly  with  the  tall  white- 
flowered  Veratrum  Californicum,  with  boat- 
shaped  leaves  about  a  foot  long,  eight  or 
ten  inches  wride,  and  veined  like  those  of 
cypripedium,  —  a  robust,  hearty,  liliaceous 
plant,  fond  of  water  and  determined  to 
be  seen.  Columbine  and  larkspur  grow  on 
the  dryer  edges  of  the  meadows,  with  a  tall 
handsome  lupine  standing  waist-deep  in 
long  grasses  and  sedges.  Castilleias,  too,  of 
several  species  make  a  bright  show  with 
beds  of  violets  at  their  feet.  But  the  glory 
of  these  forest  meadows  is  a  lily  (L.  par- 
•  [  124  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

vum).  The  tallest  are  from  seven  to  eight 
feet  high  with  magnificent  racemes  of  ten 
to  twenty  or  more  small  orange-colored 
flowers;  they  stand  out  free  in  open  ground, 
with  just  enough  grass  and  other  compan- 
ion plants  about  them  to  fringe  their  feet, 
and  show  them  off  to  best  advantage.  This 
is  a  grand  addition  to  my  lily  acquaintances, 
—a  true  mountaineer,  reaching  prime  vigor 
and  beauty  at  a  height  of  seven  thousand 
feet  or  thereabouts.  It  varies,  I  find,  very 
much  in  size  even  in  the  same  meadow,  not 
only  with  the  soil,  but  with  age.  I  saw  a 
specimen  that  had  only  one  flower,  and  an- 
other within  a  stone's  throw  had  twenty- 
five.  And  to  think  that  the  sheep  should  be 
allowed  in  these  lily  meadows!  after  how 
many  centuries  of  Nature's  care  planting 
and  watering  them,  tucking  the  bulbs  in 
snugly  below  winter  frost,  shading  the  ten- 
der shoots  with  clouds  drawn  above  them 
like  curtains,  pouring  refreshing  rain,  mak- 
ing them  perfect  in  beauty,  and  keeping 
[  125  ] 


My  First  Summer 

them  safe  by  a  thousand  miracles;  yet, 
strange  to  say,  allowing  the  trampling  of 
devastating  sheep.  One  might  reasonably 
look  for  a  wall  of  fire  to  fence  such  gardens. 
So  extravagant  is  Nature  with  her  choicest 
treasures,  spending  plant  beauty  as  she 
spends  sunshine,  pouring  it  forth  into  land 
and  sea,  garden  and  desert.  And  so  the 
beauty  of  lilies  falls  on  angels  and  men, 
bears  and  squirrels,  wolves  and  sheep,  birds 
and  bees,  but  as  far  as  I  have  seen,  man  alone, 
and  the  animals  he  tames,  destroy  these 
gardens.  Awkward,  lumbering  bears,  the 
Don  tells  me,  love  to  wallow  in  them  in  hot 
weather,  and  deer  with  their  sharp  feet  cross 
them  again  and  again,  sauntering  and  feed- 
ing, yet  never  a  lily  have  I  seen  spoiled  by 
them.  Rather,  like  gardeners,  they  seem  to 
cultivate  them,  pressing  and  dibbling  as  re- 
quired. Anyhow  not  a  leaf  or  petal  seems 
misplaced. 

The  trees  round  about  them  seem  as  per- 
fect in  beauty  and  form  as  the  lilies,  their 
[  126] 


In  the  Sierra 

boughs  whorled  like  lily  leaves  in  exact 
order.  This  evening,  as  usual,  the  glow  of 
our  camp-fire  is  working  enchantment  on 
everything  within  reach  of  its  rays.  Lying 
beneath  the  firs,  it  is  glorious  to  see  them 
dipping  their  spires  in  the  starry  sky,  the  sky 
like  one  vast  lily  meadow  in  bloom  !  How 
can  I  close  my  eyes  on  so  precious  a  night  ? 
July  10.-- A  Douglas  squirrel,  peppery, 
pungent  autocrat  of  the  woods,  is  barking 
overhead  this  morning,  and  the  small  forest 
birds,  so  seldom  seen  when  one  travels  nois- 
ily, are  out  on  sunny  branches  along  the 
edge  of  the  meadow  getting  warm,  taking 
a  sun  bath  and  dew  bath  —  a  fine  sight.  How 
charming  the  sprightly  confident  looks  and 
ways  of  these  little  feathered  people  of  the 
trees!  They  seem  sure  of  dainty,  wholesome 
breakfasts,  and  where  are  so  many  break- 
fasts to  come  from  ?  How  helpless  should  we 
find  ourselves  should  we  try  to  set  a  table 
for  them  of  such  buds,  seeds,  insects,  etc., 
as  would  keep  them  in  the  pure  wild  health 

[  127  J 

i 


My  First  Summer 

they  enjoy  !  Not  a  headache  or  any  other 
ache  amongst  them,  I  guess.  As  for  the 
irrepressible  Douglas  squirrels,  one  never 
thinks  of  their  breakfasts  or  the  possibility 
of  hunger,  sickness,  or  death  ;  rather  they 
seem  like  stars  above  chance  or  change, 
even  though  we  may  see  them  at  times  busy 
gathering  burrs,  working  hard  for  a  living. 
On  through  the  forest  ever  higher  we 
go,  a  cloud  of  dust  dimming  the  way,  thou- 
sands of  feet,  trampling  leaves  and  flowers, 
but  in  this  mighty  wilderness  they  seem  but 
a  feeble  band,  and  a  thousand  gardens  will 
escape  their  blighting  touch.  They  cannot 
hurt  the  trees,  though  some  of  the  seedlings 
suffer,  and  should  the  woolly  locusts  be 
greatly  multiplied,  as  on  account  of  dollar 
value  they  are  likely  to  be,  then  the  forests, 
too,  may  in  time  be  destroyed.  Only  the  sky 
will  then  be  safe,  though  hid  from  view  by 
dust  and  smoke,  incense  of  a  bad  sacrifice. 
Poor,  helpless,  hungry  sheep,  in  great  part 
misbegotten,  without  good  right  to  be,  semi- 
[  128] 


In  the  Sierra 

manufactured,  made  less  by  God  than  man, 
born  out  of  time  and  place,  yet  their  voices 
are  strangely  human  and  call  out  one's  pity. 

Our  way  is  still  along  the  Merced  and 
Tuolumne  divide,  the  streams  on  our  right 
going  to  swell  the  songful  Yosemite  River, 
those  on  our  left  to  the  songful  Tuolumne, 
slipping  through  sunny  carex  and  lily 
meadows,  and  breaking  into  song  down  a 
thousand  ravines  almost  as  soon  as  they  are  v 
born.  A  more  tuneful  set  of  streams  surely 
nowhere  exists,  or  more  sparkling  crystal 
pure,  now  gliding  with  tinkling  whisper, 
now  with  merry  dimpling  rush,  in  and  out 
through  sunshine  and  shade,  shimmering 
in  pools,  uniting  their  currents,  bouncing, 
dancing  from  form  to  form  over  cliffs  and 
inclines,  ever  more  beautiful  the  farther 
they  go  until  they  pour  into  the  main  gla- 
cial rivers. 

All  day  I  have  been  gazing  in  growing 
admiration  at  the  noble  groups  of  the  mag- 
nificent silver  fir  which  more  and  more  is 
[  129] 


My  First  Summer 

taking  the  ground  to  itself.  The  woods  above 
Crane  Flat  still  continue  comparatively 
open,  letting  in  the  sunshine  on  the  brown 
needle-strewn  ground.  Not  only  are  the  in- 
dividual trees  admirable  in  symmetry  and 
superb  in  foliage  and  port,  but  half  a  dozen 
or  more  often  form  temple  groves  in  which 
the  trees  are  so  nicely  graded  in  size  and 
position  as  to  seem  one.  Here,  indeed,  is  the 
tree-lover's  paradise.  The  dullest  eye  in  the 
world  must  surely  be  quickened  by  such 
trees  as  these. 

Fortunately  the  sheep  need  little  atten- 
tion, as  they  are  driven  slowly  and  allowed 
to  nip  and  nibble  as  they  like.  Since  leaving 
Hazel  Green  we  have  been  following  the 
Yosemite  trail ;  visitors  to  the  famous  valley 
coming  by  way  of  Coulterville  and  Chinese 
Camp  pass  this  way--  the  two  trails  uniting 
at  Crane  Flat  —  and  enter  the  valley  on  the 
north  side.  Another  trail  enters  on  the  south 
side  by  way  of  Mariposa.  The  tourists  we 
saw  were  in  parties  of  from  three  or  four  to 
[  130  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

fifteen  or  twenty,  mounted  on  mules  or  small 
mustang  ponies.  A  strange  show  they  made, 
winding  single  file  through  the  solemn  woods 
in  gaudy  attire,  scaring  the  wild  creatures, 
and  one  might  fancy  that  even  the  great 
pines  would  be  disturbed  and  groan  aghast. 
But  what  may  we  say  of  ourselves  and  the 
flock  ? 

We  are  now  camped  at  Tamarack  Flat, 
within  'four  or  five  miles  of  the  lower  end 
of  Yosemite.  Here  is  another  fine  meadow 
embosomed  in  the  woods,  with  a  deep,  clear 
stream  gliding  through  it,  its  banks  rounded 
and  beveled  with  a  thatch  of  dipping  sedges. 
The  flat  is  named  after  the  two-leaved  pine 
(Pinus  contorta,  var.  Murrayana],  common 
here,  especially  around  the  cool  margin  of 
the  meadow.  On  rocky  ground  it  is  a  rough, 
thickset  tree,  about  forty  to  sixty  feet  high 
and  one  to  three  feet  in  diameter,  bark  thin 
and  gummy,  branches  rather  naked,  tassels, 
leaves,  and  cones  small.  But  in  damp,  rich 
soil  it  grows  close  and  slender,  and  reaches 


My  First  Summer 

a  height  at  times  of  nearly  a  hundred  feet. 
Specimens  only  six  inches  in  diameter  at  the 
ground  are  often  fifty  or  sixty  feet  in  height, 
as  slender  and  sharp  in  outline  as  arrows,  like 
the  true  tamarack  (larch)  of  the  Eastern 
States ;  hence  the  name,  though  it  is  a 
pine. 

July  1 1.  -  -The  Don  has  gone  ahead  on 
one  of  the  pack  animals  to  spy  out  the  land 
to  the  north  of  Yosemite  in  search  of  the 
best  point  for  a  central  camp.  Much  higher 
than  this  we  cannot  now  go,  for  the  upper 
pastures,  said  to  be  better  than  any  here- 
abouts, are  still  buried  in  heavy  winter 
snow.  Glad  I  am  that  camp  is  to  be  fixed 
in  the  Yosemite  region,  for  many  a  glorious 
ramble  I  '11  have  along  the  top  of  the  walls, 
and  then  what  landscapes  I  shall  find  with 
their  new  mountains  and  canons,  forests 
and  gardens,  lakes  and  streams  and  falls. 

We  are  now  about  seven  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  the  nights  are  so  cool  we 
have  to  pile  coats  and  extra  clothing  on  top 
[  132  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

of  our  blankets.  Tamarack  Creek  is  icy  cold, 
delicious,  exhilarating  champagne  water.  It 
is  flowing  bank  full  in  the  meadow  with 
silent  speed,  but  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
below  our  camp  the  ground  is  bare  gray 
granite  strewn  with  boulders,  large  spaces 
being  without  a  single  tree  or  only  a  small 
one  here  and  there  anchored  in  narrow 
seams  and  cracks.  The  boulders,  many  of 
them  very  large,  are  not  in  piles  or  scattered 
like  rubbish  among  loose  crumbling  debris 
as  if  weathered  out  of  the  solid  as  boulders 
of  disintegration;  they  mostly  occur  sin- 
gly, and  are  lying  on  a  clean  pavement  on 
which  the  sunshine  falls  in  a  glare  that  con- 
trasts with  the  shimmer  of  light  and  shade 
we  have  been  accustomed  to  in  the  leafy 
woods.  And,  strange  to  say,  these  boulders 
lying  so  still  and  deserted,  with  no  moving 
force  near  them,  no  boulder  carrier  any- 
where in  sight,  were  nevertheless  brought 
from  a  distance,  as  difference  in  color  and 
composition  shows,  quarried  and  carried  and 


My  First  Summer 

laid  down  here  each  in  its  place ;  nor  have 
they  stirred,  most  of  them,  through  calm 
and  storm  since  first  they  arrived.  They 
look  lonely  here,  strangers  in  a  strange  land, 
—  huge  blocks,  angular  mountain  chips, 
the  largest  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  diameter, 
the  chips  that  Nature  has  made  in  model- 
ing her  landscapes,  fashioning  the  forms  of 
her  mountains  and  valleys.  And  with  what 
tool  were  they  quarried  and  carried?  On 
the  pavement  we  find  its  marks.  The  most 
resisting  unweathered  portion  of  the  sur- 
face is  scored  and  striated  in  a  rigidly  par- 
allel way,  indicating  that  the  region  has 
been  overswept  by  a  glacier  from  the  north- 
eastward, grinding  down  the  general  mass 
of  the  mountains,  scoring  and  polishing, 
producing  a  strange,  raw,  wiped  appearance, 
and  dropping  whatever  boulders  it  chanced 
to  be  carrying  at  the  time  it  was  melted  at 
the  close  of  the  Glacial  Period.  A  fine  dis- 
covery this.  As  for  the  forests  we  have 
been  passing  through,  they  are  probably 
[  134  ] 


A  Glacial  Boulder 


In  the  Sierra 

growing  on  deposits  of  soil  most  of  which 
has  been  laid  down  by  this  same  ice  agent 
in  the  form  of  moraines  of  different  sorts, 
now  in  great  part  disintegrated  and  out- 
spread by  post-glacial  weathering. 

Out  of  the  grassy  meadow  and  down 
over  this  ice-planed  granite  runs  the  glad 
young  Tamarack  Creek,  rejoicing,  exulting, 
chanting,  dancing  in  white,  glowing,  irised 
falls  and*cascades  on  its  way  to  the  Merced 
Canon,  a  few  miles  below  Yosemite,  fall- 
ing more  than  three  thousand  feet  in  a  dis- 
tance of  about  two  miles. 

All  the  Merced  streams  are  wonderful 
singers,  and  Yosemite  is  the  centre  where 
the  main  tributaries  meet.  From  a  point 
about  half  a  mile  from  our  camp  we  can 
see  into  the  lower  end  of  the  famous  valley, 
with  its  wonderful  cliffs  and  groves,  a  grand 
page  of  mountain  manuscript  that  I  would 
gladly  give  my  life  to  be  able  to  read.  How 
vast  it  seems,  how  short  human  life  when 
we  happen  to  think  of  it,  and  how  little  we 
[  135  J 


My  First  Summer 

may  learn,  however  hard  we  try  !  Yet  why 
bewail  our  poor  inevitable  ignorance?  Some 
of  the  external  beauty  is  always  in  sight, 
enough  to  keep  every  fibre  of  us  tingling, 
and  this  we  are  able  to  gloriously  enjoy 
though  the  methods  of  its  creation  may  lie 
beyond  our  ken.  Sing  on,  brave  Tamarack 
Creek,  fresh  from  your  snowy  fountains, 
plash  and  swirl  and  dance  to  your  fate  in 
the  sea;  bathing,  cheering  every  living  thing 
along  your  way. 

Have  greatly  enjoyed  all  this  huge  day, 
sauntering  and  seeing,  steeping  in  the  moun- 
tain influences,  sketching,  noting,  pressing 
flowers,  drinking  ozone  and  Tamarack  water. 
Found  the  white  fragrant  Washington  lily, 
the  finest  of  all  the  Sierra  lilies.  Its  bulbs 
are  buried  in  shaggy  chaparral  tangles,  I  sup- 
pose for  safety  from  pawing  bears;  and  its 
magnificent  panicles  sway  and  rock  over  the 
top  of  the  rough  snow-pressed  bushes,  while 
big,  bold,  blunt-n osed  bees  drone  and  mumble 
in  its  polleny  bells.  A  lovely  flower,  worth 
[  136] 


In  the  Sierra 

going  hungry  and  footsore  endless  miles  to 
see.  The  whole  world  seems  richer  now 
that  I  have  found  this  plant  in  so  noble  a 
landscape. 

A  log  house  serves  to  mark  a  claim  to 
the  Tamarack  meadow,  which  may  become 
valuable  as  a  station  in  case  travel  to  Yo- 
semite  should  greatly  increase.  Belated  par- 
ties occasionally  stop  here.  A  white  man 
with  an  Indian  woman  is  holding  possession 
of  the  place. 

Sauntered  up  the  meadow  aboutsundown, 
out  of  sight  of  camp  and  sheep  and  all 
human  mark,  into  the  deep  peace  of  the 
solemn  old  woods,  everything  glowing  with 
Heaven's  unquenchable  enthusiasm. 

"July  12.-  -The  Don  has  returned,  and 
again  we  go  on  pilgrimage.  "  Looking  over 
the  Yosemite  Creek  country/*  he  said, 
"  from  the  tops  of  the  hills  you  see  nothing 
but  rocks  and  patches  of  trees ;  but  when 
you  go  down  into  the  rocky  desert  you  find 
no  end  of  small  grassy  banks  and  meadows, 

c  137] 


My  First  Summer 

and  so  the  country  is  not  half  so  lean  as  it 
looks.  There  we  '11  go  and  stay  until  the 
snow  is  melted  from  the  upper  country." 

I  was  glad  to  hear  that  the  high  snow 
made  a  stay  in  the  Yosemite  region  neces- 
sary, for  I  am  anxious  to  see  as  much  of 
it  as  possible.  What  fine  times  I  shall  have 
sketching,  studying  plants  and  rocks,  and 
scrambling  about  the  brink  of  the  great 
valley  alone,  out  of  sight  and  sound  of 
camp  ! 

We  saw  another  party  of  Yosemite  tour- 
ists to-day.  Somehow  most  of  these  travelers 
seem  to  care  but  little  for  the  glorious 
objects  about  them,  though  enough  to  spend 
time  and  money  and  endure  long  rides  to 
see  the  famous  valley.  And  when  they  are 
fairly  within  the  mighty  walls  of  the  tem- 
ple and  hear  the  psalms  of  the  falls,  they 
will  forget  themselves  and  become  devout. 
Blessed,  indeed,  should  be  every  pilgrim  in 
these  holy  mountains! 

We   moved   slowly   eastward   along  th< 

[  138] 


In  the  Sierra 

Mono  Trail,  and  early  in  the  afternoon 
unpacked  and  camped  on  the  bank  of  Cas- 
cade Creek.  The  Mono  Trail  crosses  the 
range  by  the  Bloody  Canon  Pass  to  gold 
mines  near  the  north  end  of  Mono  Lake. 
These  mines  were  reported  to  be  rich  when 
first  discovered,  and  a  grand  rush  took  place, 
making  a  trail  necessary.  A  few  small  bridges 
were  built  over  streams  where  fording  was 
not  practicable  on  account  of  the  softness 
of  the  bottom,  sections  of  fallen  trees  cut 
out,  and  lanes  made  through  thickets  wide 
enough  to  allow  the  passage  of  bulky  packs; 
but  over  the  greater  part  of  the  way  scarce 
a  stone  or  shovelful  of  earth  has  been 
moved. 

The  woods  we  passed  through  are  com- 
posed almost  wholly  of  Abies  magnifica,  the 
companion  species,  concolor,  being  mostly  left 
behind  on  account  of  altitude,  while  the  in- 
creasing elevation  seems  grateful  to  the 
charming  magnified.  No  words  can  do  any- 
thing like  justice  to  this  noble  tree.  Atone 


My  First  Summer 

place  many  had  fallen  during  some  heavy 
wind-storm,  owing  to  the  loose  sandy  char- 
acter of  the  soil,  which  offered  no  secure  an- 
chorage. The  soil  is  mostly  decomposed  and 
disintegrated  moraine  material. 

The  sheep  are  lying  down  on  a  bare 
rocky  spot  such  as  they  like,  chewing  the 
cud  in  grassy  peace.  Cooking  is  going  on, 
appetites  growing  keener  every  day.  No 
lowlander  can  appreciate  the  mountain  ap- 
petite, and  the  facility  with  which  heavy 
food  called  "  grub  "  is  disposed  of.  Eating, 
walking,  resting,  seem  alike  delightful,  and 
one  feels  inclined  to  shout  lustily  on  rising 
in  the  morning  like  a  crowing  cock.  Sleep 
and  digestion  as  clear  as  the  air.  Fine  spicy 
plush  boughs  for  bedding  we  shall  have  to- 
night, and  a  glorious  lullaby  from  this  cas- 
cading creek.  Never  was  stream  more  fit- 
tingly named,  for  as  far  as  I  have  traced  it 
above  and  below  our  camp  it  is  one  contin- 
uous bouncing,  dancing,  white  bloom  of  cas- 
cades. And  at  the  very  last  unwearied  it 


In  the  Sierra 

finishes  its  wild  course  in  a  grand  leap  of 
three  hundred  feet  or  more  to  the  bottom 
of  the  main  Yosemite  canon  near  the  fall 
of  Tamarack  Creek,  a  few  miles  below 
the  foot  of  the  valley.  These  falls  almost 
rival  some  of  the  far-famed  Yosemite  falls. 
Never  shall  I  forget  these  glad  cascade  songs, 
the  low  booming,  the  roaring,  the  keen,  sil- 
very clashing  of  the  cool  water  rushing  exult- 
ing from  form  to  form  beneath  irised  spray ; 
or  in  the  deep  still  night  seen  white  in  the 
darkness,  and  its  multitude  of  voices  sound- 
ing still  more  impressively  sublime.  Here 
I  find  the  little  water  ouzel  as  much  at  home 
as  any  linnet  in  a  leafy  grove,  seeming  to 
take  the  greater  delight  the  more  boisterous 
the  stream.  The  dizzy  precipices,  the  swift 
dashing  energy  displayed,  and  the  thunder 
tones  of  the  sheer  falls  are  awe  inspiring,  but 
there  is  nothing  awful  about  this  little  bird. 
Its  song  is  sweet  and  low,  and  all  its  gestures, 
as  it  flits  about  amid  the  loud  uproar,  bespeak 
strength  and  peace  and  joy.  Contemplating 


My  First  Summer 

these  darlings  of  Nature  coming  forth  from 
spray-sprinkled  nests  on  the  brink  of  savage 
streams,  Samson's  riddle  comes  to  mind, 
"  Out  of  the  strong  cometh  forth  sweetness/ ' 
A  yet  finer  bloom  is  this  little  bird  than 
the  foam-bells  in  eddying  pools.  Gentle 
bird,  a  precious  message  you  bring  me. 
We  may  miss  the  meaning  of  the  torrent, 
but  thy  sweet  voice,  only  love  is  in  it. 

jfufy  13.  —  Our  course  all  day  has  been 
eastward  over  the  rim  of  Yosemite  Creek 
basin  and  down  about  halfway  to  the  bot- 
tom, where  we  have  encamped  on  a  sheet 
of  glacier-polished  granite,  a  firm  founda- 
tion for  beds.  Saw  the  tracks  of  a  very  large 
bear  on  the  trail,  and  the  Don  talked  of 
bears  in  general.  I  said  I  should  like  to  see 
the  maker  of  these  immense  tracks  as  he 
marched  along,  and  follow  him  for  days, 
without  disturbing  him,  to  learn  something 
of  the  life  of  this  master  beast  of  the  wil- 
derness. Lambs,  the  Don  told  me,  born  in 
the  lowland,  that  never  saw  or  heard  a  bear, 

1 142] 


In  the  Sierra 

snort  and  run  in  terror  when  they  catch  the 
scent,  showing  how  fully  they  have  inher- 
ited a  knowledge  of  their  enemy.  Hogs, 

mules,  horses,  and  cattle  are  afraid  of  bears, 

• 

and  are  seized  with  ungovernable  terror 
when  they  approach,  particularly  hogs  and 
mules.  Hogs  are  frequently  driven  to  pas- 
tures in  the  foothills  of  the  Coast  Range 
and  Sierra  where  acorns  are  abundant,  and 
are  herded  in  droves  of  hundreds  like  sheep. 
When  a  bear  comes  to  the  range  they 
promptly  leave  it,  emigrating  in  a  body, 
usually  in  the  night  time,  the  keepers  being 
powerless  to  prevent ;  they  thus  show  more 
sense  than  sheep,  that  simply  scatter  in  the 
rocks  and  brush  and  await  their  fate.  Mules 
flee  like  the  wind  with  or  without  riders 
when  they  see  a  bear,  and,  if  picketed,  some- 
times break  their  necks  in  trying  to  break 
their  ropes,  though  I  have  not  heard  of 
bears  killing  mules  or  horses.  Of  hogs  they 
are  said  to  be  particularly  fond,  bolting 
small  ones,  bones  and  all,  without  choice  of 
[  143  1 


My  First  Summer 

parts.  In  particular,  Mr.  Delaney  assured 
me  that  all  kinds  of  bears  in  the  Sierra  are 
very  shy,  and  that  hunters  found  far  greater 
difficulty  in  getting  within  gunshot  of  them 
than  of  deer  or  indeed  any  other  animal  in 
the  Sierra,  and  if  I  was  anxious  to  see  much 
of  them  I  should  have  to  wait  and  watch 
with  endless  Indian  patience  and  pay  no  at- 
tention to  anything  else. 

Night  is  coming  on,  the  gray  rock  waves 
are  growing  dim  in  the  twilight.  How  raw 
and  young  this  region  appears !  Had  the  ice 
sheet  that  swept  over  it  vanished  but  yester- 
day, its  traces  on  the  more  resisting  portions 
about  our  camp  could  hardly  be  more  dis- 
tinct than  they  now  are.  The  horses  and 
sheep  and  all  of  us,  indeed,  slipped  on  the 
smoothest  places. 

"July  1 4.  —  How  deathlike  is  sleep  in  this 
mountain  air,  and  quick  the  awakening  into 
newness  of  life  !  A  calm  dawn,  yellow  and 
purple,  then  floods  of  sun-gold,  making 
everything  tingle  and  glow. 


In  the  Sierra 

In  an  hour  or  two  we  came  to  Yosemite 
Creek,  the  stream  that  makes  the  greatest 
of  all  the  Yosemite  falls.  It  is  about  forty 
feet  wide  at  the  Mono  Trail  crossing,  and 
now  about  four  feet  in  average  depth,  flow- 
ing about  three  miles  an  hour.  The  distance 
to  the  verge  of  the  Yosemite  wall,  where  it 
makes  its  tremendous  plunge,  is  only  about 
two  miles  from  here.  Calm,  beautiful,  and 
nearly  silent,  it  glides  with  stately  gestures, 
a  dense  growth  of  the  slender  two-leaved 
pine  along  its  banks,  and  a  fringe  of  willow, 
purple  spirea,  sedges,  daisies,  lilies,  and  col- 
umbines. Some  of  the  sedges  and  willow 
boughs  dip  into  the  current,  and  just  out- 
side of  the  close  ranks  of  trees  there  is  a 
sunny  flat  of  washed  gravelly  sand  which 
seems  to  have  been  deposited  by  some  an- 
cient flood.  It  is  covered  with  millions 
of  erethrea,  eriogonum,  and  oxytheca,  with 
more  flowers  than  leaves,  forming  an  even 
growth,  slightly  dimpled  and  ruffled  here 
and  there  by  rosettes  of  Spraguea  umbellata. 
[  145  ] 


My  First  Summer 

Back  of  this  flowery  strip  there  is  a  wavy  up- 
sloping  plain  of  solid  granite,  so  smoothly 
ice-polished  in  many  places  that  it  glistens  in 
the  sun  like  glass.  In  shallow  hollows  there 
are  patches  of  trees,  mostly  the  rough  form 
of  the  two-leaved  pine,  rather  scrawny  look- 
ing where  there  is  little  or  no  soil.  Also  a 
few  junipers  (Juniperus  occidental!*},  short 
and  stout,  with  bright  cinnamon-colored 
bark  and  gray  foliage,  standing  alone  mostly, 
on  the  sun-beaten  pavement,  safe  from  fire, 
clinging  by  slight  joints, —  a  sturdy  storm- 
enduring  mountaineer  of  a  tree,  living 
on  sunshine  and  snow,  maintaining  tough 
health  on  this  diet  for  perhaps  more  than 
a  thousand  years. 

Up  towards  the  head  of  the  basin  I  see 
groups  of  domes  rising  above  the  wave- 
like  ridges,  and  some  picturesque- castellated 
masses,  and  dark  strips  and  patches  of  silver  fir, 
indicating  deposits  of  fertile  soil.  Would  that 
I  could  command  the  time  to  study  them ! 
What  rich  excursions  one  could  make  in 
[  146] 


In  the  Sierra 

this  well-defined  basin !  Its  glacial  inscrip- 
tions and  sculptures,  how  marvelous  they 
seem,  how  noble  the  studies  they  offer!  I 
tremble  with  excitement  in  the  dawn  of 
these  glorious  mountain  sublimities,  but  I 
can  only  gaze  and  wonder,  and,  like  a  child, 
gather  here  and  there  a  lily,  half  hoping  I 
may  be  able  to  study  and  learn  in  years  to 
come. 

The  drivers  and  dogs  had  a  lively,  labori- 
ous time  getting  the  sheep  across  the  creek, 
the  second  large  stream  thus  far  that  they 
have  been  compelled  to  cross  without  a 
bridge;  the  first  being  the  North  Fork  of 
the  Merced  near  Bower  Cave.  Men  and  dogs, 
shouting  and  barking,  drove  the  timid,  water- 
fearing  creatures  in  a  close  crowd  against 
the  bank,  but  not  one  of  the  flock  would 
launch  away.  While  thus  jammed,  the  Don 
and  the  shepherd  rushed  through  the  fright- 
ened crowd  to  stampede  those  in  front,  but 
this  would  only  cause  a  break  backward, 
and  away  they  would  scamper  through  the 


My  First  Summer 

stream-bank  trees  and  scatter  over  the  rocky 
pavement.  Then  with  the  aid  of  the  dogs 
the  runaways  would  again  be  gathered  and 
made  to  face  the  stream,  and  again  the  com- 
pacted mass  would  break  away,  amid  wild 
shouting  and  barking  that  might  well  have 
disturbed  the  stream  itself  and  marred  the 
music  of  its  falls,  to  which  visitors  no  doubt 
from  all  quarters  of  the  globe  were  listen- 
ing. "  Hold  them  there !  Now  hold  them 
there  !  "  shouted  the  Don  ;  "the  front  ranks 
will  soon  tire  of  the  pressure,  and  be  glad 
to  take  to  the  water,  then  all  will  jump  in 
and  cross  in  a  hurry."  But  they  did  nothing 
of  the  kind ;  they  only  avoided  the  pressure 
by  breaking  back  in  scores  and  hundreds, 
leaving  the  beauty  of  the  banks  sadly 
trampled. 

If  only  one  could  be  got  to  cross  over,  all 
would  make  haste  to  follow;  but  that  one 
could  not  be  found.  A  lamb  was  caught, 
carried  across,  and  tied  to  a  bush  on  the 
opposite  bank,  where  it  cried  piteously  for 


In  the  Sierra 

its  mother.  But  though  greatly  concerned, 
the  mother  only  called  it  back.  That  play 
on  maternal  affection  failed,  and  we  began 
to  fear  that  we  should  be  forced  to  make  a 
long  roundabout  drive  and  cross  the  wide- 
spread tributaries  of  the  creek  in  succession. 
This  would  require  several  days,  but  it  had 
its  advantages,  for  I  was  eager  to  see  the 
sources  of  so  famous  a  stream.  Don  Quix- 
ote, however,  determined  that  they  must  ford 
just  here,  and  immediately  began  a  sort  of 
siege  by  cutting  down  slender  pines  on  the 
bank  and  building  a  corral  barely  large 
enough  to  hold  the  flock  when  well  pressed 
together.  And  as  the  stream  would  form 
one  side  of  the  corral  he  believed  that  they 
could  easily  be  forced  into  the  water. 

In  a  few  hours  the  inclosure  was  com- 
pleted, and  the  silly  animals  were  driven  in 
and  rammed  hard  against  the  brink  of  the 
ford.  Then  the  Don,  forcing  a  way  through 
the  compacted  mass,  pitched  a  few  of  the 
terrified  unfortunates  into  the  stream  by 


My  First  Summer 

main  strength ;  but  instead  of  crossing  over, 
they  swam  about  close  to  the  bank,  mak- 
ing desperate  attempts  to  get  back  into  the 
flock.  Then  a  dozen  or  more  were  shoved 
off,  and  the  Don,  tall  like  a  crane  and  a 
good  natural  wader,  jumped  in  after  them, 
seized  a  struggling  wether,  and  dragged  it 
to  the  opposite  shore.  But  no  sooner  did  he 
let  it  go  than  it  jumped  into  the  stream  and 
swam  back  to  its  frightened  companions  in 
the  corral,  thus  manifesting  sheep-nature  as 
unchangeable  as  gravitation.  Pan  with  his 
pipes  would  have  had  no  better  luck,  I  fear. 
We  were  now  pretty  well  baffled.  The  silly 
creatures  would  suffer  any  sort  of  death 
rather  than  cross  that  stream.  Calling  a 
council,  the  dripping  Don  declared  that 
starvation  was  now  the  only  likely  scheme 
to  try,  and  that  we  might  as  well  camp  here 
in  comfort  and  let  the  besieged  flock  grow 
hungry  and  cool,  and  come  to  their  senses, 
if  they  had  any.  In  a  few  minutes  after 
being  thus  let  alone,  an  adventurer  in  the 

1 150] 


In  the  Sierra 

foremost  rank  plunged  in  and  swam  bravely 
to  the  farther  shore.  Then  suddenly  all 
rushed  in  pell-mell  together,  trampling  one 
another  under  water,  while  we  vainly  tried 
to  hold  them  back.  The  Don  jumped  into 
the  thickest  of  the  gasping,  gurgling,  drown- 
ing mass,  and  shoved  them  right  and  left  as 
if  each  sheep  was  a  piece  of  floating  timber. 
The  current  also  served  to  drift  them 
apart ;  a  long  bent  column  was  soon  formed, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  all  were  over  and 
began  baaing  and  feeding  as  if  nothing  out 
of  the  common  had  happened.  That  none 
were  drowned  seems  wonderful.  I  fully  ex- 
pected that  hundreds  would  gain  the  roman- 
tic fate  of  being  swept  into  Yosemite  over 
the  highest  waterfall  in  the  world. 

As  the  day  was  far  spent,  we  camped  a 
little  way  back  from  the  ford,  and  let  the 
dripping  flock  scatter  and  feed  until  sun- 
down. The  wool  is  dry  now,  and  calm,  cud- 
chewing  peace  has  fallen  on  all  the  comfort- 
able band,  leaving  no  trace  of  the  watery 


My  Firsf  Summer 

battle.  I  have  seen  fish  driven  out  of  the 
water  with  less  ado  than  was  made  in  driving 
these  animals  into  it.  Sheep  brain  must  surely 
be  poor  stuff.  Compare  to-day's  exhibition 
with  the  performances  of  deer  swimming 
quietly  across  broad  and  rapid  rivers,  and 
from  island  to  island  in  seas  and  lakes;  or 
with  dogs,  or  even  with  the  squirrels  that, 
as  the  story  goes,  cross  the  Mississippi  River 
on  selected  chips,  with  tails  for  sails  com- 
fortably trimmed  to  the  breeze.  A  sheep 
can  hardly  be  called  an  animal;  an  entire 
flock  is  required  to  make  one  foolish  indi- 
vidual. 

"July  15. —  Followed  the  Mono  Trail  up 
the  eastern  rim  of  the  basin  nearly  to  its  sum- 
mit, then  turned  off  southward  to  a  small 
shallow  valley  that  extends  to  the  edge  of 
the  Yosemite,  which  we  reached  about  noon, 
and  encamped.  After  luncheon  I  made  haste 
to  high  ground,  and  from  the  top  of  the  ridge 
on  the  west  side  of  Indian  Canon  gained 
the  noblest  view  of  the  summit  peaks  I  have 
[  152  ] 


In  // '?  Sierra 

ever  yet  enjoyed.  Nearly  all  the  upper  basin 
of  the  Merced  was  displayed,  with  its  sublime 
domes  and  canons,  dark  upsweeping  forests, 
and  glorious  array  of  white  peaks  deep  in  the 
sky,  every  feature  glowing,  radiating  beauty 
that  pours  into  our  flesh  and  bones  like  heat 
rays  from  fire.  Sunshine  over  all;  no  breath 
of  wind  to  stir  the  brooding  calm.  Never 
before  had  I  seen  so  glorious  a  landscape,  so 
boundless  an  affluence  of  sublime  mountain 
beauty.  The  most  extravagant  description 
I  might  give  of  this  view  to  any  one  who  has 
not  seen  similar  landscapes  with  his  own 
eyes  would  not  so  much  as  hint  its  grandeur 
and  the  spiritual  glow  that  covered  it.  I 
shouted  and  gesticulated  in  a  wild  burst  of 
ecstasy,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  St. 
Bernard  Carlo,  who  came  running  up  to  me, 
manifesting  in  his  intelligent  eyes  a  puzzled 
concern  that  was  very  ludicrous,  which  had 
the  effect  of  bringing  me  to  my  senses.  A 
brown  bear,  too,  it  would  seem,  had  been  a 
spectator  of  the  show  I  had  made  of  myself, 


My  First  Summer 

for  I  had  gone  but  a  few  yards  when  I  started 
one  from  a  thicket  of  brush.  He  evidently 
considered  me  dangerous,  for  he  ran  away  very 
fast,  tumbling  over  the  tops  of  the  tangled 
manzanita  bushes  in  his  haste.  Carlo  drew 
back,  with  his  ears  depressed  as  if  afraid, 
and  kept  looking  me  in  the  face,  as  if  ex- 
pecting me  to  pursue  and  shoot,  for  he  had 
seen  many  a  bear  battle  in  his  day. 

Following  the  ridge  which  made  a  grad- 
ual descent  to  the  south,  I  came  at  length  to 
the  brow  of  that  massive  cliff  that  stands  be- 
tween Indian  Canon  and  Yosemite  Falls,  and 
here  the  far-famed  valley  came  suddenly  into 
view  throughout  almost  its  whole  extent. 
The  noble  walls — sculptured  into  endless 
variety  of  domes  and  gables,  spires  and  bat- 
tlements and  plain  mural  precipices  —  all 
a-tremble  with  the  thunder  tones  of  the  fall- 
ing water.  The  level  bottom  seemed  to  be 
dressed  like  a  garden, —  sunny  meadows  here 
and  there,  and  groves  of  pine  and  oak  ;  the 
river  of  Mercy  sweeping  in  majesty  through 


In  the  Sierra 


the  midst  of  them  and  flashing  back  the  sun- 
beams. The  great  Tissiack,  or  Half-Dome, 
rising  at  the  upper  end  of  the  valley  to  a 
height  of  nearly  a  mile,  is  nobly  proportioned 
and  life-like,  the  most  impressive  of  all  the 
rocks,  holding  the  eye  in  devout  admiration, 
calling  it  back  again  and  again  from  falls 
or  meadows,  or  even  the  mountains  beyond, 
—  marvelous  cliffs,  marvelous  in  sheer  dizzy 
depth  an'd  sculpture,  types  of  endurance. 
Thousands  of  years  have  they  stood  in  the 
sky  exposed  to  rain,  snow,  frost,  earthquake 
and  avalanche,  yet  they  still  wear  the  bloom 
of  youth. 

I  rambled  along  the  valley  rim  to  the 
westward;  most  of  it  is  rounded  off  on  the 
very  brink,  so  that  it  is  not  easy  to  find  places 
where  one  may  look  clear  down  the  face  of 
the  wall  to  the  bottom.  When  such  places 
were  found,  and  I  had  cautiously  set  my  feet 
and  drawn  my  body  erect,  I  could'  not  help 
fearing  a  little  that  the  rock  might  split  off 
and  let  me  down,  and  what  a  down!  — 


My  First  Summer 

more  than  three  thousand  feet.  Still  my 
limbs  did  not  tremble,  nor  did  I  feel  the  least 
uncertainty  as  to  the  reliance  to  be  placed 
on  them.  My  only  fear  was  that  a  flake  of 
the  granite,  which  in  some  places  showed 
joints  more  or  less  open  and  running  parallel 
with  the  face  of  the  cliff,  might  give  way. 
After  withdrawing  from  such  places,  excited 
with  the  view  I  had  got,  I  would  say  to 
myself,  "  Now  don't  go  out  on  the  verge 
again."  But  in  the  face  of  Yosemite  scenery 
cautious  remonstrance  is  vain ;  under  its  spell 
one's  body  seems  to  go  where  it  likes  with  a 
will  over  which  we  seem  to  have  scarce  any 
control. 

After  a  mile  or  so  of  this  memorable 
cliff  work  I  approached  Yosemite  Creek, 
admiring  its  easy,  graceful,  confident  ges- 
tures as  it  comes  bravely  forward  in  its  nar- 
row channel,  singing  the  last  of  its  mountain 
songs  on  its  way  to  its  fate  —  a  few  rods 
more  over  the  shining  granite,  then  down 
half  a  mile  in  snowy  foam  to  another  world, 
[  156] 


In  the  Sierra 

to  be  lost  in  the  Merced,  where  climate, 
vegetation,  inhabitants,  all  are  different. 
Emerging  from  its  last  gorge,  it  glides  in 
wide  lace-like  rapids  down  a  smooth  incline 
into  a  pool  where  it  seems  to  rest  and  com- 
pose its  gray,  agitated  waters  before  taking 
the  grand  plunge,  then  slowly  slipping  over 
the  lip  of  the  pool  basin,  it  descends  another 
glossy  slope  with  rapidly  accelerated  speed 
to  the  brink  of  the  tremendous  cliff,  and 
with  sublime,  fateful  confidence  springs  out 
free  in  the  air. 

I  took  off  my  shoes  and  stockings  and 
worked  my  way  cautiously  down  alongside 
the  rushing  flood,  keeping  my  feet  and 
hands  pressed  firmly  on  the  polished  rock. 
The  booming,  roaring  water,  rushing  past 
close  to  my  head,  was  very  exciting.  I  had 
expected  that  the  sloping  apron  would  ter- 
minate with  the  perpendicular  wall  of  the 
valley,  and  that  from  the  foot  of  it,  where 
it  is  less  steeply  inclined,  I  should  be  able  to 
lean  far  enough  out  to  see  the  forms  and 


My  First  Summer 

behavior  of  the  fall  all  the  way  down  to  the 
bottom.  But  I  found  that  there  was  yet  an- 
other small  brow  over  which  I  could  not 
see,  and  which  appeared  to  be  too  steep  for 
mortal  feet.  Scanning  it  keenly,  I  discovered 
a  narrow  shelf  about  three  inches  wide  on 
the  very  brink,  just  wide  enough  for  a  rest 
for  one's  heels.  But  there  seemed  to  be  no 
way  of  reaching  it  over  so  steep  a  brow.  At 
length,  after  careful  scrutiny  of  the  surface, 
I  found  an  irregular  edge  of  a  flake  of  the 
rock  some  distance  back  from  the  margin 
of  the  torrent.  If  I  was  to  get  down  to  the 
brink  at  all  that  rough  edge,  which  might 
offer  slight  finger  holds,  was  the  only  way. 
But  the  slope  beside  it  looked  dangerously 
smooth  and  steep,  and  the  swift  roaring  flood 
beneath,  overhead,  and  beside  me  was  very 
nerve-trying.  I  therefore  concluded  not  to 
venture  farther,  but  did  nevertheless.  Tufts 
of  artemisia  were  growing  in  clefts  of  the 
rock  near  by,  and  I  filled  my  mouth  with 
the  bitter  leaves,  hoping  they  might  help  to 


In  the  Sierra 

prevent  giddiness.  Then,  with  a  caution  not 
known  in  ordinary  circumstances,  I  crept 
down  safely  to  the  little  ledge,  got  my  heels 
well  planted  on  it,  then  shuffled  in  a  hori- 
zontal direction  twenty  or  thirty  feet  until 
close  to  the  outplunging  current,  which,  by 
the  time  it  had  descended  thus  far,  was  al- 
ready white.  Here  I  obtained  a  perfectly 
free  view  down  into  the  heart  of  the  snowy, 
chanting  throng  of  comet-like  streamers, 
into  which  the  body  of  the  fall  soon  sepa- 
rates. 

While  perched  on  that  narrow  niche  I 
was  not  distinctly  conscious  of  danger.  The 
tremendous  grandeur  of  the  fall  in  form 
and  sound  and  motion,  acting  at  close  range, 
smothered  the  sense  of  fear,  and  in  such 
places  one's  body  takes  keen  care  for  safety 
on  its  own  account.  How  long  I  remained 
down  there,  or  how  I  returned,  I  can  hardly 
tell.  Anyhow  I  had  a  glorious  time,  and  got 
back  to  camp  about  dark,  enjoying  trium- 
phant exhilaration  soon  followed  by  dull 


My  First  Summer 

weariness.  Hereafter  I  '11  try  to  keep  from 
such  extravagant,  nerve-straining  places. 
Yet  such  a  day  is  well  worth  venturing 
for.  My  first  view  of  the  High  Sierra,  first 
view  looking  down  into  Yosemite,  the  death 
song  of  Yosemite  Creek,  and  its  flight  over 
the  vast  cliff,  each  one  of  these  is  of  itself 
enough  for  a  great  life-long  landscape  for- 
tune —  a  most  memorable  day  of  days  - 
enjoyment  enough  to  kill  if  that  were  pos- 
sible. 

July  1 6.  —  My  enjoyments  yesterday  af- 
ternoon, especially  at  the  head  of  the  fall, 
were  too  great  for  good  sleep.  Kept  start- 
ing up  last  night  in  a  nervous  tremor,  half 
awake,  fancying  that  the  foundation  of  the 
mountain  we  were  camped  on  had  given 
way  and  was  falling  into  Yosemite  Valley. 
In  vain  I  roused  myself  to  make  a  new  be- 
ginning for  sound  sleep.  The  nerve  strain 
had  been  too  great,  and  again  and  again  I 
dreamed  I  was  rushing  through  the  air  above 
a  glorious  avalanche  of  water  and  rocks.  One 
[  160] 


In  the  Sierra 

time,  springing  to  my  feet,  I  said,  "  This 
time  it  is  real  —  all  must  die,  and  where 
could  mountaineer  find  a  more  glorious 
death  !  " 

Left  camp  soon  after  sunrise  for  an  all- 
day  ramble  eastward.  Crossed  the  head  of 
Indian  Basin,  forested  with  Abies  magnified, 
underbrush  mostly  Ceanothus  cordulatus  and 
manzanita,  a  mixture  not  easily  trampled 
over'  or  penetrated,  for  the  ceanothus  is 
thorny  and  grows  in  dense  snow-pressed 
masses,  and  the  manzanita  has  exceedingly 
crooked,  stubborn  branches.  From  the  head 
of  the  canon  continued  on  past  North 
Dome  into  the  basin  of  Dome  or  Porcu- 
pine Creek.  Here  are  many  fine  meadows 
imbedded  in  the  woods,  gay  with  Lilium 
parvum  and  its  companions  ;  the  elevation, 
about  eight  thousand  feet,  seems  to  be  best 
suited  for  it  —  saw  specimens  that  were  a 
foot  or  two  higher  than  my  head.  Had 
more  magnificent  views  of  the  upper  moun- 
tains, and  of  the  great  South  Dome,  said  to 


My  First  Summer 

be  the  grandest  rock  in  the  world.  Well 
it  may  be,  since  it  is  of  such  noble  dimen- 
sions and  sculpture.  A  wonderfully  impres- 
sive monument,  its  lines  exquisite  in  fine- 
ness, and  though  sublime  in  size,  is  finished 
like  the  finest  work  of  art,  and  seems  to  be 
alive. 

yuly  17.  —  A  new  camp  was  made  to- 
day in  a  magnificent  silver  fir  grove  at  the 
head  of  a  small  stream  that  flows  into  Yose- 
mite  by  way  of  Indian  Canon.  Here  we  in- 
tend to  stay  several  weeks,  —  a  fine  location 
from  which  to  make  excursions  about  the 
great  valley  and  its  fountains.  Glorious  days 
I  '11  have  sketching,  pressing  plants,  study- 
ing the  wonderful  topography,  and  the  wild 
animals,  our  happy  fellow  mortals  and 
neighbors.  But  the  vast  mountains  in  the 
distance,  shall  I  ever  know  them,  shall  I  be 
allowed  to  enter  into  their  midst  and  dwell 
with  them? 

We  were  pelted  about  noon  by  a  short, 
heavy  rain-storm,  sublime  thunder  rever- 
[  162  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

berating  among  the  mountains  and  canons, 
-  some  strokes  near,  crashing,  ringing  in 
the  tense  crisp  air  with  startling  keenness, 
while  the  distant  peaks  loomed  gloriously 
through  the  cloud  fringes  and  sheets  of  rain. 
Now  the  storm  is  past,  and  the  fresh  washed 
air  is  full  of  the  essences  of  the  flower  gardens 
and  groves.  Winter  storms  in  Yosemite 
must  be  glorious.  May  I  see  them  ! 

Have  got  my  bed  made  in  our  new 
camp,  —  plushy,  sumptuous,  and  deliciously 
fragrant,  most  of  it  magnified  fir  plumes,  of 
course,  with  a  variety  of  sweet  flowers  in  the 
pillow.  Hope  to  sleep  to-night  without 
tottering  nerve-dreams.  Watched  a  deer 
eating  ceanothus  leaves  and  twigs. 

July  1 8.  --  Slept  pretty  well ;  the  valley 
walls  did  not  seem  to  fall,  though  I  still 
fancied  myself  at  the  brink,  alongside  the 
white,  plunging  flood,  especially  when  half 
asleep.  Strange  the  danger  of  that  adven- 
ture should  be  more  troublesome  now  that 
I  am  in  the  bosom  of  the  peaceful  woods, 

[  163  j 


My  First  Summer 

a  mile  or  more  from  the  fall,  than  it  was 
while  I  was  on  the  brink  of  it. 

Bears  seem  to  be  common  here,  judging 
by  their  tracks.  About  noon  we  had  another 
rain-storm  with  keen  startling  thunder,  the 
metallic,  ringing,  clashing,  clanging  notes 
gradually  fading  into  low  bass  rolling  and 
muttering  in  the  distance.  For  a  few  min- 
utes the  rain  came  in  a  grand  torrent  like  a 
waterfall,  then  hail ;  some  of  the  hailstones 
an  inch  in  diameter,  hard,  icy,  and  irregular 
in  form,  like  those  oftentimes  seen  in  Wis- 
consin. Carlo  watched  them  with  intelli- 
gent astonishment  as  they  came  pelting  and 
thrashing  through  the  quivering  branches 
of  the  trees.  The  cloud  scenery  sublime. 
Afternoon  calm,  sunful,  and  clear,  with  de- 
licious freshness  and  fragrance  from  the  firs 
and  flowers  and  steaming  ground. 

"July  19. — Watching  the  daybreak  and 

sunrise.     The   pale    rose    and    purple    sky 

changing  softly  to  daffodil  yellow  and  white, 

sunbeams  pouring  through  the  passes  be- 

[  '64] 


In  the  Sierra 

tween  the  peaks  and  over  the  Yosemite 
domes,  making  their  edges  burn  ;  the  silver 
firs  in  the  middle  ground  catching  the  glow 
on  their  spiry  tops,  and  our  camp  grove 
fills  and  thrills  with  the  glorious  light. 
Everything  awakening  alert  and  joyful ; 
the  birds  begin  to  stir  and  innumerable  in- 
sect people.  Deer  quietly  withdraw  into 
leafy  hiding-places  in  the  chaparral;  the 
dew  vanishes,  flowers  spread  their  petals, 
every  pulse  beats  high,  every  life  cell  re- 
joices, the  very  rocks  seem  to  thrill  with 
life.  The  whole  landscape  glows  like  a 
human  face  in  a  glory  of  enthusiasm,  and 
the  blue  sky,  pale  around  the  horizon, 
bends  peacefully  down  over  all  like  one  vast 
flower. 

About  noon,  as  usual,  big  bossy  cumuli 
began  to  grow  above  the  forest,  and  the  rain- 
storm pouring  from  them  is  the  most  im- 
posing I  have  yet  seen.  The  silvery  zigzag 
lightning  lances  are  longer  than  usual,  and 
the  thunder  gloriously  impressive,  keen, 
[  165  ] 


My  First  Summer 

crashing,  intensely  concentrated,  speaking 
with  such  tremendous  energy  it  would  seem 
that  an  entire  mountain  is  being  shattered 
at  every  stroke,  but  probably  only  a  few 
trees  are  being  shattered,  many  of  which  I 
have  seen  on  my  walks  hereabouts  strewing 
the  ground.  At  last  the  clear  ringing  strokes 
are  succeeded  by  deep  low  tones  that  grow 
gradually  fainter  as  they  roll  afar  into  the 
recesses  of  the  echoing  mountains,  where 
they  seem  to  be  welcomed  home.  Then 
another  and  another  peal,  or  rather  crash- 
ing, splintering  stroke,  follows  in  quick  suc- 
cession, perchance  splitting  some  giant  pine 
or  fir  from  top  to  bottom  into  long  rails 
and  slivers,  and  scattering  them  to  all  points 
of  the  compass.  Now  comes  the  rain,  with 
corresponding  extravagant  grandeur,  cover- 
ing the  ground  high  and  low  with  a  sheet 
of  flowing  water,  a  transparent  film  fitted 
like  a  skin  upon  the  rugged  anatomy  of 
the  landscape,  making  the  rocks  glitter  an 
glow,  gathering  in  the  ravines,  flooding  the 
[  166  ] 


i 


Thunder-storm  over  Tosemitt 


In  the  Sierra 

streams,  and  making  them  shout  and  boom 
in  reply  to  the  thunder. 

How  interesting  to  trace  the  history  of 
a  single  raindrop!  It  is  not  long,  geologi- 
cally speaking,  as  we  have  seen,  since  the 
first  raindrops  fell  on  the  newborn  leafless 
Sierra  landscapes.  How  different  the  lot  of 
these  falling  now  !  Happy  the  showers  that 
fall  on  so  fair  a  wilderness,  —  scarce  a  single 
drop  can  fail  to  find  a  beautiful  spot, —  on. 
the  tops  of  the  peaks,  on  the  shining  glacier 
pavements,  on  the  great  smooth  domes,  on 
forests  and  gardens  and  brushy  moraines, 
.plashing,  glinting,  pattering,  laving.  Some 
go  to  the  high  snowy  fountains  to  swell 
their  well-saved  stores ;  some  into  the  lakes, 
washing  the  mountain  windows,  patting 
their  smooth  glassy  levels,  making  dimples 
and  bubbles  and  spray ;  some  into  the  water- 
falls and  cascades,  as  if  eager  to  join  in  their 
dance  and  song  and  beat  their  foam  yet 
finer;  good  luck  and  good  work  for  the 
happy  mountain  raindrops,  each  one  of 
[  167  ] 


My  First  Summer 

them  a  high  waterfall  in  itself,  descending 
from  the  cliffs  and  hollows  of  the  clouds  to 
the  cliffs  and  hollows  of  the  rocks,  out  of 
the  sky-thunder  into  the  thunder  of  the 
falling  rivers.  Some,  falling  on  meadows 
and  bogs,  creep  silently  out  of  sight  to  the 
grass  roots,  hiding  softly  as  in  a  nest,  slip- 
ping, oozing  hither,  thither,  seeking  and 
finding  their  appointed  work.  Some,  descend- 
ing through  the  spires  of  the  woods,  sift 
spray  through  the  shining  needles,  whisper- 
ing peace  and  good  cheer  to  each  one  of 
them.  Some  drops  with  happy  aim  glint  on 
the  sides  of  crystals,  —  quartz,  hornblende, 
garnet,  zircon,  tourmaline,  feldspar, — patter 
on  grains  of  gold  and  heavy  way-worn  nug- 
gets; some,  with  blunt  plap-plap  and  low 
bass  drumming,  fall  on  the  broad  leaves 
of  veratrum,  saxifrage,  cypripedium.  Some 
happy  drops  fall  straight  into  the  cups  of 
flowers,  kissing  the  lips  of  lilies.  How  far 
they  have  to  go,  how  many  cups  to  fill,  great 
and  small,  cells  too  small  to  be  seen,  cups 
[  168  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

holding  half  a  drop  as  well  as  lake  basins 
between  the  hills,  each  replenished  with 
equal  care,  every  drop  in  all  the  blessed 
throng  a  silvery  newborn  star  with  lake  and 
river,  garden  and  grove,  valley  and  moun- 
tain, all  that  the  landscape  holds  reflected 
in  its  crystal  depths,  God's  messenger,  angel 
of  love  sent  on  its  way  with  majesty  and 
pomp  and  display  of  power  that  make 
man's  greatest  shows  ridiculous. 

Now  the  storm  is  over,  the  sky  is  clear, 
the  last  rolling  thunder- wave  is  spent  on 
the  peaks,  and  where  are  the  raindrops 
now  -  -  what  has  become  of  all  the  shining 
throng?  In  winged  vapor  rising  some  are 
already  hastening  back  to  the  sky,  some  have 
gone  into  the  plants,  creeping  through  in- 
visible doors  into  the  round  rooms  of  cells, 
some  are  locked  in  crystals  of  ice,  some  in 
rock  crystals,  some  in  porous  moraines  to 
keep  their  small  springs  flowing,  some  have 
gone  journeying  on  in  the  rivers  to  join  the 
larger  raindrop  of  the  ocean.  From  form 
[  169] 


My  First  Summer 

to  form,  beauty  to  beauty,  ever  changing, 
never  resting,  all  are  speeding  on  with 
love's  enthusiasm,  singing  with  the  stars  the 
eternal  song  of  creation. 

July  20. —  Fine  calm  morning;  air  tense 
and  clear;  not  the  slightest  breeze  astir; 
everything  shining,  the  rocks  with  wet 
crystals,  the  plants  with  dew,  each  receiving 
its  portion  of  irised  dewdrops  and  sunshine 
like  living  creatures  getting  their  breakfast, 
their  dew  manna  coming  down  from  the 
starry  sky  like  swarms  of  smaller  stars. 
How  wondrous  fine  are  the  particles  in 
showers  of  dew,  thousands  required  for  a 
single  drop,  growing  in  the  dark  as  silently 
as  the  grass  !  What  pains  are  taken  to  keep 
this  wilderness  in  health, — showers  of  snow, 
,  showers  of  rain,  showers  of  dew,  floods  of 
light,  floods  of  invisible  vapor,  clouds,  winds, 
all  sorts  of  weather,  interaction  of  plant 
on  plant,  animal  on  animal,  etc.,  beyond 
thought!  How  fine  Nature's  methods!  How 
deeply  with  beauty  is  beauty  overlaid  !  the 
[  170] 


In  the  Sierra 

ground  covered  with  crystals,  the  crystals 
with  mosses  and  lichens  and  low-spreading 
grasses  and  flowers,  these  with  larger  plants 
leaf  over  leaf  with  ever-changing  color  and 
form,  the  broad  palms  of  the  firs  outspread 
over  these,  the  azure  dome  over  all  like  a 
bell-flower,  and  star  above  star. 

Yonder  stands  the  South  Dome,  its  crown 
high  above  our  camp,  though  its  base  is 
four  thousand  feet  below  us ;  a  most  noble 
rock,  it  seems  full  of  thought,  clothed  with 
living  light,  no  sense  of  dead  stone  about 
it,  all  spiritualized,  neither  heavy  looking 
nor  light,  steadfast  in  serene  strength  like 
a  god. 

Our  shepherd  is  a  queer  character  and 
hard  to  place  in  this  wilderness.  His  bed 
is  a  hollow  made  in  red  dry-rot  punky 
dust  beside  a  log  which  forms  a  portion  of 
the  south  wall  of  the  corral.  Here  he  lies 
with  his  wonderful  everlasting  clothing  on, 
wrapped  in  a  red  blanket,  breathing  not 
only  the  dust  of  the  decayed  wood  but  also 


My  First  Summer 

that  of  the  corral,  as  if  determined  to  take 
ammoniacal  snuff  all  night  after  chewing 
tobacco  all  day.  Following  the  sheep  he 
carries  a  heavy  six-shooter  swung  from  his 
belt  on  one  side  and  his  luncheon  on  the 
other.  The  ancient  cloth  in  which  the  meat, 
fresh  from  the  frying-pan,  is  tied  serves  as 
a  filter  through  which  the  clear  fat  and 
gravy  juices  drip  down  on  his  right  hip  and 
leg  in  clustering  stalactites.  This  oleaginous 
formation  is  soon  broken  up,  however,  and 
diffused  and  rubbed  evenly  into  his  scanty 
apparel,  by  sitting  down,  rolling  over,  cross- 
ing his  legs  while  resting  on  logs,  etc., 
making  shirt  and  trousers  water-tight  and 
shiny.  His  trousers,  in  particular,  have  be- 
come so  adhesive  with  the  mixed  fat  and 
resin  that  pine  needles,  thin  flakes  and  fibres 
of  bark,  hair,  mica  scales  and  minute  grains 
of  quartz,  hornblende,  etc.,  feathers,  seed 
wings,  moth  and  butterfly  wings,  legs  and 
antennae  of  innumerable  insects,  or  even 
whole  insects  such  as  the  small  beetles, 
[  172  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

moths  and  mosquitoes,  with  flower  petals, 
pollen  dust  and  indeed  bits  of  all  plants, 
animals,  and  minerals  of  the  region  adhere 
to  them  and  are  safely  imbedded,  so  that 
though  far  from  being  a  naturalist  he  col- 
lects fragmentary  specimens  of  everything 
and  becomes  richer  than  he  knows.  His 
specimens  are  kept  passably  fresh,  too,  by  the 
purity  of  the  air  and  the  resiny  bituminous 
beds  into  which  they  are  pressed.  Man  is 
a  microcosm,  at  least  our  shepherd  is,  or 
rather  his  trousers.  These  precious  overalls 
are  never  taken  off,  and  nobody  knows  how 
old  they  are,  though  one  may  guess  by 
their  thickness  and  concentric  structure. 
Instead  of  wearing  thin  they  wear  thick, 
and  in  their  stratification  have  no  small 
geological  significance. 

Besides  herding  the  sheep,  Billy  is  the 
butcher,  while  I  have  agreed  to  wash  the  few 
iron  and  tin  utensils  and  make  the  bread. 
Then,  these  small  duties  done,  by  the  time 
the  sun  is  fairly  above  the  mountain-tops  I 


My  First  Summer 

am  beyond  the  flock,  free  to  rove  and  revel 
in  the  wilderness  all  the  big  immortal  days. 
Sketching  on  the  North  Dome.  It  com- 
mands views  of  nearly  all  the  valley  besides 
a  few  of  the  high  mountains.  I  would  fain 
draw  everything  in  sight,  —  rock,  tree,  and 
leaf.  But  little  can  I  do  beyond  mere  out- 
lines,—  marks  with  meanings  like  words, 
readable  only  to  myself,  —  yet  I  sharpen  my 
pencils  and  work  on  as  if  others  might  pos- 
sibly be  benefited.  Whether  these  picture- 
sheets  are  to  vanish  like  fallen  leaves  or  go 
to  friends  like  letters,  matters  not  much ;  for 
little  can  they  tell  to  those  who  have  not 
themselves  seen  similar  wildness,  and  like  a 
language  have  learned  it.  No  pain  here,  no 
dull  empty  hours,  no  fear  of  the  past,  no  fear 
of  the  future.  These  blessed  mountains  are 
so  compactly  filled  with  God's  beauty,  no 
petty  personal  hope  or  experience  has  room 
to  be.  Drinking  this  champagne  water  is 
pure  pleasure,  so  is  breathing  the  liviitg  air, 
and  every  movement  of  limbs  is  pleasure, 


In  the  Sierra 

while  the  whole  body  seems  to  feel  beauty 
when  exposed  to  it  as  it  feels  the  camp-fire  or 
sunshine,  entering  not  by  the  eyes  alone,  but 
equally  through  all  one's  flesh  like  radiant 
heat,  making  a  passionate  ecstatic  pleasure- 
glow  not  explainable.  One's  body  then  seems 
homogeneous  throughout,  sound  as  a  crystal. 

Perched  like  a  fly  on  this  Yosemitedome, 
I  gaze  and  sketch  and  bask,  oftentimes  set- 
tling down  into  dumb  admiration  without 
definite  hope  of  ever  learning  much,  yet 
with  the  longing,  unresting  effort  that  lies  at 
the  door  of  hope,  humbly  prostrate  before 
the  vast  display  of  God's  power,  and  eager 
to  offer  self-denial  and  renunciation  with 
eternal  toil  to  learn  any  lesson  in  the  divine 
manuscript. 

It  is  easier  to  feel  than  to  realize,  or  in 
any  way  explain  Yosemite  grandeur.  The 
magnitudes  of  the  rocks  and  trees  and  streams 
are  so  delicately  harmonized  they  are  mostly 
hidden.  Sheer  precipices  three  thousand  feet 
high  are  fringed  with  tall  trees  growing  close 


My  First  Summer 

like  grass  on  the  brow  of  a  lowland  hill,  and 
extending  along  the  feet  of  these  precipices 
a  ribbon  of  meadow  a  mile  wide  and  seven  or 
eight  long,  that  seems  like  a  strip  a  farmer 
might  mow  in  less  than  a  day.  Waterfalls,  five 
hundred  to  one  or  two  thousand  feet  high, 
are  so  subordinated  to  the  mighty  cliffs  over 
which  they  pour  that  they  seem  like  wisps 
of  smoke,  gentle  as  floating  clouds,  though 
their  voices  fill  the  valley  and  make  the  rocks 
tremble.  The  mountains,  too,  along  the 
eastern  sky,  and  the  domes  in  front  of  them, 
and  the  succession  of  smooth  rounded  waves 
between,  swelling  higher,  higher,  with  dark 
woods  in  their  hollows,  serene  in  massive 
exuberant  bulk  and  beauty,  tend  yet  more 
to  hide  the  grandeur  of  the  Yosemite  temple 
and  make  it  appear  as  a  subdued  subordinate 
feature  of  the  vast  harmonious  landscape. 
Thus  every  attempt  to  appreciate  any  one 
feature  is  beaten  down  by  the  overwhelming 
influence  of  all  the  others.  And,  as  if  this 
were  not  enough,  lo!  in  the  sky  arises 


In  the  Sierra 

another  mountain  range  with  topography 
as  rugged  and  substantial-looking  as  the 
one  beneath  it  —  snowy  peaks  and  domes 
and  shadowy  Yosemite  valleys  —  another 
version  of  the  snowy  Sierra,  a  new  creation 
heralded  by  a  thunder-storm.  How  fiercely, 
devoutly  wild  is  Nature  in  the  midst  of 
her  beauty-loving  tenderness !  —  painting 
lilies,  watering  them,  caressing  them  with 
gentle  hand,  going  from  flower  to  flower 
like  a  gardener  while  building  rock  moun- 
tains and  cloud  mountains  full  of  lightning 
and  rain.  Gladly  we  run  for  shelter  beneath 
an  overhanging  clifF  and  examine  the  re- 
assuring ferns  and  mosses,  gentle  love  tokens 
growing  in  cracks  and  chinks.  Daisies,  too, 
and  ivesias,  confiding  wild  children  of  light, 
too  small  to  fear.  To  these  one's  heart  goes 
home,  and  the  voices  of  the  storm  become 
gentle.  Now  the  suri  breaks  forth  and  fra- 
grant steam  arises.  The  birds  are  out  singing 
on  the  edges  of  the  groves.  The  west  is  flam- 
ing in  gold  and  purple,  ready  for  the  cere- 


My  First  Summer 

mony  of  the  sunset,  and  back  I  go  to  camp 
with  my  notes  and  pictures,  the  best  of  them 
printed  in  my  mind  as  dreams.  A  fruitful 
day,  without  measured  beginning  or  ending. 
A  terrestrial  eternity.  A  gift  of  good  God. 

Wrote  to  my  mother  and  a  few  friends, 
mountain  hints  to  each.  They  seem  as  near 
as  if  within  voice-reach  or  touch.  The 
deeper  the  solitude  the  less  the  sense  of  lone- 
liness, and  the  nearer  our  friends.  Now  bread 
and  tea,  fir  bed  and  good-night  to  Carlo,  a 
look  at  the  sky  lilies,  and  death  sleep  until 
the  dawn  of  another  Sierra  to-morrow. 

"July  2 1 .  —  Sketching  on  the  Dome,  - 
no  rain ;  clouds  at  noon  about  quarter  filled 
the  sky,  casting  shadows  with  fine  effect  on 
the  white  mountains  at  the  heads  of  the 
streams,  and  a  soothing  cover  over  the  gar- 
dens during  the  warm  hours. 

Saw  a  common  house  fly  and  a  grasshop- 
per and  a  brown  bear.    The  fly  and  grass- 
hopper paid  me  a  merry  visit  on  the  top  of 
the  Dome,  and  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  bear  in 
[  178  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

the  middle  of  a  small  garden  meadow 
between  the  Dome  and  the  camp  where  he 
was  standing  alert  among  the  flowers  as  if 
willing  to  be  seen  to  advantage.  I  had  not 
gone  more  than  half  a  mile  from  camp  this 
morning,  when  Carlo,  who  was  trotting  on 
a  few  yards  ahead  of  me,  came  to  a  sudden, 
cautious  standstill.  Down  went  tail  and 
ears,  and  forward  went  his  knowing  nose, 
while  he  seemed  to  be  saying  "  Ha,  what 's 
this?  A  bear,  I  guess."  Then  a  cautious 
advance  of  a  few  steps,  setting  his  feet  down 
softly  like  a  hunting  cat,  and  questioning 
the  air  as  to  the  scent  he  had  caught  until 
all  doubt  vanished.  Then  he  came  back  to 
me,  looked  me  in  the  face,  and  with  his 
speaking  eyes  reported  a  bear  near  by;  then 
led  on  softly,  careful,  like  an  experienced 
hunter,  not  to  make  the  slightest  noise,  and 
frequently  looking  back  as  if  whispering 
"Yes,  it's  a  bear,  come  and  I'll  show 
you."  Presently  we  came  to  where  the  sun- 
beams were  streaming  through  between  the 


My  First  Summer 

purple  shafts  of  the  firs,  which  showed  that 
we  were  nearing  an  open  spot,  and  here 
Carlo  came  behind  me,  evidently  sure  that 
the  bear  was  very  near.  So  I  crept  to  a  low 
ridge  of  moraine  boulders  on  the  edge 
of  a  narrow  garden  meadow,  and  in  this 
meadow  I  felt  pretty  sure  the  bear  must  be. 
I  was  anxious  to  get  a  good  look  at  the 
sturdy  mountaineer  without  alarming  him; 
so  drawing  myself  up  noiselessly  back  of 
one  of  the  largest  of  the  trees  I  peered  past 
its  bulging  buttresses,  exposing  only  a  part 
of  my  head,  and  there  stood  neighbor  Bruin 
within  a  stone's  throw,  his  hips  covered  by 
tall  grass  and  flowers,  and  his  front  feet  on 
the  trunk  of  a  fir  that  had  fallen  out  into 
the  meadow,  which  raised  his  head  so  high 
that  he  seemed  to  be  standing  erect.  He 
had  not  yet  seen  me,  but  was  looking  and 
listening  attentively,  showing  that  in  some 
way  he  was  aware  of  our  approach.  I  watched 
his  gestures  and  tried  to  make  the  most  of 
my  opportunity  to  learn  what  I  could  about 
[ 


In  the  Sierra 

him,  fearing  he  would  catch  sight  of  me 
and  run  away.  For  I  had  been  told  that 
this  sort  of  bear,  the  cinnamon,  always  ran 
from  his  bad  brother  man,  never  showing 
right  unless  wounded  or  in  defense  of  young. 
He  made  a  telling  picture  standing  alert  in 
the  sunny  forest  garden.  How  well  he 
played  his  part,  harmonizing  in  bulk  and 
color  and  shaggy  hair  with  the  trunks  of 
the  trees  and  lush  vegetation,  as  natural  a 
feature  as  any  other  in  the  landscape.  After 
examining  at  leisure,  noting  the  sharp 
muzzle  thrust  inquiringly  forward,  the  long 
shaggy  hair  on  his  broad  chest,  the  stiff 
erect  ears  nearly  buried  in  hair,  and  the 
slow  heavy  way  he  moved  his  head,  I 
thought  I  should  like  to  see  his  gait  in  run- 
ning, so  I  made  a  sudden  rush  at  him, 
shouting  and  swinging  my  hat  to  frighten 
him,  expecting  to  see  him  make  haste  to 
get  away.  But  to  my  dismay  he  did  not 
run  or  show  any  sign  of  running.  On  the 
contrary,  he  stood  his  ground  ready  to  fight 
[  181  ] 


My  First  Summer 

and  defend  himself,  lowered  his  head,  thrust 
it  forward,  and  looked  sharply  and  fiercely 
at  me.  Then  I  suddenly  began  to  fear  that 
upon  me  would  fall  the  work  of  running ; 
but  I  was  afraid  to  run,  and  therefore,  like 
the  bear,  held  my  ground.  We  stood  staring 
at  each  other  in  solemn  silence  within  a 
dozen  yards  or  thereabouts,  while  I  fervently 
hoped  that  the  power  of  the  human  eye 
over  wild  beasts  would  prove  as  great  as  it 
is  said  to  be.  How  long  our  awfully  strenu- 
ous interview  lasted,  I  don't  know;  but  at 
length  in  the  slow  fullness  of  time  he  pulled 
his  huge  paws  down  off  the  log,  and  with 
magnificent  deliberation  turned  and  walked 
leisurely  up  the  meadow,  stopping  frequently 
to  look  back  over  his  shoulder  to  see 
whether  I  was  pursuing  him,  then  moving 
on  again,  evidently  neither  fearing  me  very 
much  nor  trusting  me.  He  was  probably 
about  five  hundred  pounds  in  weight,  a 
broad  rusty  bundle  of  ungovernable  wild- 
ness,  a  happy  fellow  whose  lines  have  fallen 
[  182  ] 


o 

I 


In  the  Sierra 

in  pleasant  places.  The  flowery  glade  in 
which  I  saw  him  so  well,  framed  like  a 
picture,  is  one  of  the  best  of  all  I  have  yet 
discovered,  a  conservatory  of  Nature's  pre- 
cious plant  people.  Tall  lilies  were  swing- 
ing their  bells  over  that  bear's  back,  with 
geraniums,  larkspurs,  columbines,  and  daisies 
brushing  against  his  sides.  A  place  for 
angels,  one  would  say,  instead  of  bears. 

In  the*  great  canons  Bruin  reigns  su- 
preme. Happy  fellow,  whom  no  famine 
can  reach  while  one  of  his  thousand  kinds 
of  food  is  spared  him.  His  bread  is  sure  at 
all  seasons,  ranged  on  the  mountain  shelves 
like  stores  in  a  pantry.  From  one  to  the 
other,  up  or  down  he  climbs,  tasting  and 
njoying  each  in  turn  in  different  climates, 
as  if  he  had  journeyed  thousands  of  miles 
to  other  countries  north  or  south  to  enjoy 
their  varied  productions.  I  should  like  to 
know  my  hairy  brothers  better,  -  -  though 
after  this  particular  Yosemite  bear,  my  very 
neighbor,  had  sauntered  out  of  sight  this 
[  183  ] 


My  First  Summer 

morning,  I  reluctantly  went  back  to  camp 
for  the  Don's  rifle  to  shoot  him,  if  neces- 
sary, in  defense  of  the  flock.  Fortunately  I 
could  n't  find  him,  and  after  tracking  him 
a  mile  or  two  towards  Mt.  Hoffman  I  bade 
him  Godspeed  and  gladly  returned  to  my 
work  on  the  Yosemite  dome. 

The  house  fly  also  seemed  at  home  and 
buzzed  about  me  as  I  sat  sketching,  and  en- 
joying my  bear  interview  now  it  was  over. 
I  wonder  what  draws  house  flies  so  far  up  the 
mountains,  heavy,  gross  feeders  as  they  are, 
sensitive  to  cold,  and  fond  of  domestic  ease. 
How  have  they  been  distributed  from  con- 
tinent to  continent,  across  seas  and  deserts 
and  mountain  chains,  usually  so  influential 
in  determining  boundaries  of  species  both 
of  plants  and  animals.  Beetles  and  butter- 
flies are  sometimes  restricted  to  small  areas. 
Each  mountain  in  a  range,  and  even  the 
different  zones  of  a  mountain,  may  have 
its  own  peculiar  species.  Bin:  the  house  fly 
seems  to  be  everywhere.  I  wonder  if  any 
[  184  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

island  in  mid-ocean  is  flyless.  The  bluebot- 
tle is  abundant  in  these  Yosemite  woods, 
ever  ready  with  his  marvelous  store  of  eggs 
to  make  all  dead  flesh  fly.  Bumblebees  are 
here,  and  are  well  fed  on  boundless  stores  of 
nectar  and  pollen.  The  honeybee,  though 
abundant  in  the  foothills,  has  not  yet  got  so 
high.  It  is  only  a  few  years  since  the  first 
swarm  was  brought  to  California. 

A  queer  fellow  and  a  jolly  fellow  is  the 
grasshopper.  Up  the  mountains  he  comes 
on  excursions,  how  high  I  don't  know,  but 
at  least  as  far  and  high  as  Yosemite  tourists. 
I  was  much  interested  with  the  hearty  en- 
joyment of  the  one  that  danced  and  sang 
for  me  on  the  Dome  this  afternoon.  He 
seemed  brimful  of  glad,  hilarious  energy, 
manifested  by  springing  into  the  air  to  a 
height  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  then  diving 
and  springing  up  again  and  making  a  sharp 
musical  rattle  just  as  the  lowest  point  in  the 
descent  was  reached.  Up  and  down  a  dozen 
times  or  so  he  danced  and  sang,  then  alighted 
[  185  ] 


My  First  Summer 

to  rest,  then  up  and  at  it  again.  The  curves 
he  described  in  the  air  in  diving  and  rat- 
tling resembled  those  made  by  cords  hang- 
ing loosely  and  attached  at  the  same  height 


TRACK  OF  SINGING  DANCING  GRASSHOPPER  IN  THE 
AIR  OVER  NORTH  DOME 

at  the  ends,  the  loops  nearly  covering  each 
other.  Braver,  heartier,  keener,  care-free 
enjoyment  of  life  I  have  never  seen  or  heard 
in  any  creature,  great  or  small.  The  life  of 

[  186  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

this  comic  redlegs,  the  mountain's  merriest 
child,  seems  to  be  made  up  of  pure,  con- 
densed gayety.  The  Douglas  squirrel  is  the 
only  living  creature  that  I  can  compare 
him  with  in  exuberant,  rollicking,  irrepress- 
ible jollity.  Wonderful  that  these  sublime 
mountains  are  so  loudly  cheered  and  bright- 
ened by  a  creature  so  queer.  Nature  in  him 
seems  to  be  snapping  her  fingers  in  the  face 
of  all  earthy  dejection  and  melancholy  with 
a  boyish  hip-hip-hurrah.  How  the  sound  is 
made  I  do  not  understand.  When  he  was  on 
the  ground  he  made  not  the  slightest  noise, 
nor  when  he  was  simply  flying  from  place  to 
place,  but  only  when  diving  in  curves,  the 
motion  seeming  to  be  required  for  the  sound ; 
for  the  more  vigorous  the  diving  the  more 
energetic  the  corresponding  outbursts  of  jolly 
rattling.  I  tried  to  observe  him  closely  while 
he  was  resting  in  the  intervals  of  his  per- 
formances ;  but  he  would  not  allow  a  near 
approach,  always  getting  his  jumping  legs 
ready  to  spring  for  immediate  flight,  and 
[  187  ] 


My  First  Summer 

V 

keeping  his  eyes  on  me.  A  fine  sermon  the 
little  fellow  danced  for  me  on  the  Dome, 
a  likely  place  to  look  for  sermons  in  stones, 
but  not  for  grasshopper  sermons.  A  large 
and  imposing  pulpit  for  so  small  a  preacher. 
No  danger  of  weakness  in  the  knees  of  the 
world  while  Nature  can  spring  such  a  rat- 
tle as  this.  Even  the  bear  did  not  express  for 
me  the  mountain's  wild  health  and  strength 
and  happiness  so  tellingly  as  did  this  com- 
ical little  hopper.  No  cloud  of  care  in  his 
day,  no  winter  of  discontent  in  sight.  To 
him  every  day  is  a  holiday ;  and  when  at 
length  his  sun  sets,  I  fancy  he  will  cuddle 
down  on  the  forest  floor  and  die  like  the 
leaves  and  flowers,  and  like  them  leave  no 
unsightly  remains  calling  for  burial. 

Sundown,  and  I  must  to  camp.  Good- 
night, friends  three,  —  brown  bear,  rugged 
boulder  of  energy  in  groves  and  gardens 
fair  as  Eden;  restless  fussy  fly  with  gauzy 
wings  stirring  the  air  around  all  the  world ; 
and  grasshopper,  crisp  electric  spark  of 
[  '88  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

joy  enlivening  the  massy  sublimity  of  the 
mountains  like  the  laugh  of  a  child.  Thank 
pou,  thank  you  all  three  for  your  quicken- 
ing company.  Heaven  guide  every  wing  and 
leg.  Good-night,  friends  three,  good-night. 
July  22. —  A  fine  specimen  of  the  black- 
died  deer  went  bounding  past  camp  this 
torning.  A  buck  with  wide  spread  of 
intlers,  showing  admirable  vigor  and  grace. 
ronderful  the  beauty,  strength,  and  grace- 
ful movements  of  animals  in  wildernesses, 
:ared  for  by  Nature  only,  when  our  experi- 
ence with  domestic  animals  would  lead  us 
to  fear  that  all  the  so-called  neglected  wild 
>easts  would  degenerate.  Yet  the  upshot 
>f  Nature's  method  of  breeding  and  teach- 
ig  seems  to  lead  to  excellence  of  every 
>rt.  Deer,  like  all  wild  animals,  are  as  clean 
plants.  The  beauties  of  their  gestures  and 
ittitudes,  alert  or  in  repose,  surprise  yet  more 
:han  their  bounding  exuberant  strength, 
ivery  movement  and  posture  is  graceful, 
the  very  poetry  of  manners  and  motion. 

1 189] 


My  First  Summer 

Mother  Nature  is  too  often  spoken  of  as  in 
reality  no  mother  at  all.  Yet  how  wisely, 
sternly,  tenderly  she  loves  and  looks  after 
her  children  in  all  sorts  of  weather  and 
wildernesses.  The  more  I  see  of  deer  the 
more  I  admire  them  as  mountaineers.  They 
make  their  way  into  the  heart  of  the 
roughest  solitudes  with  smooth  reserve  of 
strength,  through  dense  belts  of  brush  and 
forest  encumbered  with  fallen  trees  and 
boulder  piles,  across  canons,  roaring  streams, 
and  snow-fields,  ever  showing  forth  beauty 
and  courage.  Over  nearly  all  the  conti- 
nent the  deer  find  homes.  In  the  Florida 
savannas  and  hummocks,  in  the  Canada 
woods,  in  the  far  north,  roaming  over 
mossy  tundras,  swimming  lakes  and  rivers 
and  arms  of  the  sea  from  island  to  island 
washed  with  waves,  or  climbing  rocky 
mountains,  everywhere  healthy  and  able, 
adding  beauty  to  every  landscape,  -  -  a 
truly  admirable  creature  and  great  credit 
to  Nature. 

[  190  1 


In  the  Sierra 

Have   been   sketching  a  silver    fir   that 
stands  on  a  granite  ridge  a  few  hundred  yards 


MT.  CLARK.         TOP  OF  S.  DOME.          MT.  STARR    KING 

ABIES    MAGNIFICA 

to  the  eastward  of  camp, — a  fine  tree  with 
a  particular  snow-storm  story  to  tell.  It 
is  about  one  hundred  feet  high,  growing 


My  First  Summer 

on  bare  rock,  thrusting  its  roots  into  a 
weathered  joint  less  than  an  inch  wide, 
and  bulging  outtto  form  a  base  to  bear  its 
weight.  The  storm  came  from  the  north 
while  it  was  young  and  broke  it  down  nearly 
to  the  ground,  as  is  shown  by  the  old,  dead, 
weather-beaten  top  leaning  out  from  the 
living  trunk  built  up  from  a  new  shoot  below 
the  break.  The  annual  rings  of  the  trunk 
that  have  overgrown  the  dead  sapling  tell 
the  year  of  the  storm.  Wonderful  that  a 
side  branch  forming  a  portion  of  one  of  the 
level  collars  that  encircle  the  trunk  of  this 
species  (Abies  magnified}  should  bend  up- 
ward, grow  erect,  and  take  the  place  of  the 
lost  axis  to  form  a  new  tree. 

Many  others,  pines  as  well  as  firs,  bear 
testimony  to  the  crushing  severity  of  this 
particular  storm.  Trees,  some  of  them  fifty 
to  seventy-five  feet  high,  were  bent  to  the 
ground  and  buried  like  grass,  whole  groves 
vanishing  as  if  the  forest  had  been  cleared 
away,  leaving  not  a  branch  or  needle  visible 
[  192  ] 


In  the  Sierra 


until  the  spring  thaw.  Then  the  more 
elastic  undamaged  saplings  rose  again,  aided 
by  the  wind,  some  reaching  a  nearly  erect 
attitude,  others  remaining  more  or  less  bent, 
while  those  with  broken  backs  endeavored 
to  specialize  a  side  branch  below  the  break 


cw 


'OoA' 

^ 

\_  /  " 

ILLUSTRATING    GROWTH    OF    NEW    PINE     FROM     BRANCH 
BELOW  THE  BREAK  OF  AXIS  OF  SNOW-CRUSHED  TREE 

and  make  a  leader  of  it  to  form  a  new  axis  of 
development.  It  is  as  if  a  man,  whose  back 
was  broken  or  nearly  so  and  who  was  com- 
pelled to  go  bent,  should  find  a  branch 
backbone  sprouting  straight  up  from  below 
[  193  ] 


My  First  Summer 

the  break  and  should  gradually  develop  new 
arms  and  shoulders  and  head,  while  the  old 
damaged  portion  of  his  body  died. 

Grand  white  cloud  mountains  and  domes 
created  about  noon  as  usual,  ridges  and  ranges 
of  endless  variety,  as  if  Nature  dearly  loved 
this  sort  of  work,  doing  it  again  and  again 
nearly  every  day  with  infinite  industry,  and 
producing  beauty  that  never  palls.  A  few 
zigzags  of  lightning,  five  minutes'  shower, 
then  a  gradual  wilting  and  clearing.,, 

July  23.  —  Another  midday  cloudland, 
displaying  power  and  beauty  that  one  never 
wearies  in  beholding,  but  hopelessly  un- 
sketchable  and  untellable.  What  can  poor 
mortals  say  about  clouds  ?  While  a  descrip- 
tion of  their  huge  glowing  domes  and  ridges, 
shadowy  gulfs  and  canons,  and  feather- 
edged  ravines  is  being  tried,  they  vanish, 
leaving  no  visible  ruins.  Nevertheless,  these 
fleeting  sky  mountains  are  as  substantial  and 
significant  as  the  more  lasting  upheavals  of 
granite  beneath  them.  Both  alike  are  built 


In  the  Sierra 

up  and  die,  and  in  God's  calendar  difference 
of  duration  is  nothing.  We  can  only  dream 
about  them  in  wondering,  worshiping  admi- 
ration, happier  than  we  dare  tell  even  to 
friends  who  see  farthest  in  sympathy,  glad  to 
know  that  not  a  crystal  or  vapor  particle  of 
them,  hard  or  soft,  is  lost;  that  they  sink  and 
vanish  only  to  rise  again  and  again  in  higher 
and  higher  beauty.  As  to  our  own  work,  duty, 
influence,  etc.,  concerning  which  so  much 
fussy  pother  is  made,  it  will  not  fail  of  its 
due  effect,  though,  like  a  lichen  on  a  stone, 
we  keep  silent. 

yuly  24.  —  Clouds  at  noon  occupying 
about  half  the  sky  gave  half  an  hour  of  heavy 
rain  to  wash  one  of  the  cleanest  landscapes  in 
the  world.  How  well  it  is  washed  !  The  sea 
is  hardly  less  dusty  than  the  ice-burnished 
pavements  and  ridges,  domes  and  canons, 
and  summit  peaks  plashed  with  snow  like 
waves  with  foam.  How  fresh  the  woods  are 
and  calm  after  the  last  films  of  clouds  have 
been  wiped  from  the  sky!  A  few  minutes 


My  First  Summer 

ago  every  tree  was  excited,  bowing  to  the 
roaring  storm,  waving,  swirling,  tossing  their 
branches  in  glorious  enthusiasm  like  worship. 
But  though  to  the  outer  ear  these  trees  are 
now  silent,  their  songs  never  cease.  Every 
hidden  cell  is  throbbing  with  music  and  life, 
every  fibre  thrilling  like  harp  strings,  while 
incense  is  ever  flowing  from  the  balsam  bells 
and  leaves.  No  wonder  the  hills  and  groves 
were  God's  first  temples,  and  the  more  they 
are  cut  down  and  hewn  into  cathedrals  and 
churches,  the  farther  oflf  and  dimmer  seems 
the  Lord  himself.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
stone  temples.  Yonder,  to  the  eastward  of 
our  camp  grove,  stands  one  of  Nature's  cathe- 
drals, hewn  from  the  living  rock,  almost 
conventional  in  form,  about  two  thousand 
feet  high,  nobly  adorned  with  spires  and  pin- 
nacles, thrilling  under  floods  of  sunshine  as 
if  alive  like  a  grove-temple,  and  well  named 
"Cathedral  Peak."  Even  Shepherd  Billy 
turns  at  times  to  this  wonderful  mountain 
building,  though  apparently  deaf  to  all  stone 

1 196] 


In  the  Sierra 

sermons.  Snow  that  refused  to  melt  in  fire 
would  hardly  be  more  wonderful  than  un- 
changing dullness  in  the  rays  of  God's  beauty. 
I  have  been  trying  to  get  him  to  walk  to  the 
brink  of  Yosemite  for  a  view,  offering  to 
watch  the  sheep  for  a  day,  while  he  should 
enjoy  what  tourists  come  from  all  over  the 
world  to  see.  But  though  within  a  mile  of 
the  famous  valley,  he  will  not  go  to  it  even 
out  of  mere  curiosity.  "What,"  says  he,  "is 
Yosemite  but  a  canon  —  a  lot  of  rocks  —  a 
hole  in  the  ground  —  a  place  dangerous 
about  falling  into  —  a  d — d  good  place  to 
keep  away  from."  "  But  think  of  the  water- 
falls, Billy --just  think  of  that  big  stream 
we  crossed  the  other  day,  falling  half  a  mile 
through  the  air  —  think  of  that,  and  the 
sound  it  makes.  You  can  hear  it  now  like  the 
roar  of  the  sea."  Thus  I  pressed  Yosemite 
upon  him  like  a  missionary  offering  the 
gospel,  but  he  would  have  none  of  it.  "  I 
should  be  afraid  to  look  over  so  high  a  wall," 
he  said.  "  It  would  make  my  head  swim. 
[  '97] 


My  First  Summer 

There  is  nothing  worth  seeing  anyway,  only 
rocks,  and  I  see  plenty  of  them  here.  Tour- 
ists that  spend  their  money  to  see  rocks  and 
falls  are  fools,  that 's  all.  You  can't  humbug 
me.  I  've  been  in  this  country  too  long  for 
that/'  Such  souls,  I  suppose,  are  asleep, 
or  smothered  and  befogged  beneath  mean 
pleasures  and  cares. 

July  25.  -  -  Another  cloudland.  Some 
clouds  have  an  over-ripe  decaying  look, 
watery  and  bedraggled  and  drawn  out  into 
wind-torn  shreds  and  patches,  giving  the 
sky  a  littered  appearance ;  not  so  these  Si- 
erra summer  midday  clouds.  All  are  beau- 
tiful with  smooth  definite  outlines  and  curves 
like  those  of  glacier-polished  domes.  They 
begin  to  grow  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  seem 
so  wonderfully  near  and  clear  from  this  high 
camp  one  is  tempted  to  try  to  climb  them 
and  trace  the  streams  that  pour  like  cata^ 
racts  from  their  shadowy  fountains.  The 
rain  to  which  they  give  birth  is  often  very 
heavy,  a  sort  of  waterfall  as  imposing  as  if 
[  198  ] 


In  the  Sierra 


pouring  from  rock  mountains.   Never  in  all 
my    travels   have   I    found  anything  more 
ruly  novel  and  interesting  than  these  mid- 
ay  mountains  of  the  sky,  their  fine  tones 
f  color,  majestic  visible  growth,  and  ever- 
hanging  scenery  and  general  effects,  though 
mostly  as  well  let  alone  as  far  as  description 
oes.   I  oftentimes  think  of  Shelley's  cloud 
poem,  "  I  sift  the  snow  on  the   mountains 
below." 

July  26.  —  Ramble  to  the  summit  of 
Mt.  Hoffman,  eleven  thousand  feet  high, 
the  highest  point  in  life's  journey  my  feet 
have  yet  touched.  And  what  glorious  land- 
scapes are  about  me,  new  plants,  new  ani- 
mals, new  crystals,  and  multitudes  of  new 
mountains  far  higher  than  Hoffman,  tower- 
ing in  glorious  array  along  the  axis  of  the 
range,  serene,  majestic,  snow-laden,  sun- 
drenched, vast  domes  and  ridges  shining 
below  them,  forests,  lakes,  and  meadows  in 
the  hollows,  the  pure  blue  bell-flower  sky 
brooding  them  all,  —  a  glory  day  of  admis- 
[  199] 


My  First  Summer 

sion  into  a  new  realm  of  wonders  as  if 
Nature  had  wooingly  whispered,  "  Come 
higher/'  What  questions  I  asked,  and  how 
little  I  know  of  all  the  vast  show,  and  how 
eagerly,  tremulously  hopeful  of  some  day 
knowing  more,  learning  the  meaning  of 
these  divine  symbols  crowded  together  on 
this  wondrous  page. 

Mt.  Hoffman  is  the  highest  part  of  a  ridge 
or  spur  about  fourteen  miles  from  the  axis 
of  the  main  range,  perhaps  a  remnant 
brought  into  relief  and  isolated  by  unequal 
denudation.  The  southern  slopes  shed  their 
waters  into  Yosemite  Valley  by  Tenaya  and 
Dome  Creeks,  the  northern  in  part  into 
the  Tuolumne  River,  but  mostly  into  the 
Merced  by  Yosemite  Creek.  The  rock  is 
mostly  granite,  with  some  small  piles  and 
crests  rising  here  and  there  in  picturesque 
pillared  and  castellated  remnants  of  red 
metamorphic  slates.  Both  the  granite  and 
slates  are  divided  by  joints,  making  them 
separable  into  blocks  like  the  stones  of  arti- 

[   200] 


In  the  Sierra 

ficial  masonry,  suggesting  the  Scripture  "  He 
hath  builded  the  mountains/'   Great  banks 


APPROACH    OF    DOME    CREEK    TO    YOSEMITE 

of  snow  and  ice  are  piled  in  hollows  on  the 

cool    precipitous    north    side  forming    the 

highest  perennial  sources  of  Yosemite  Creek. 

[  201  ] 


My  First  Summer 

The  southern  slopes  are  much  more  gradual 
and  accessible.  Narrow  slot-like  gorges 
extend  across  the  summit  at  right  angles, 
which  look  like  lanes,  formed  evidently  by 
the  erosion  of  less  resisting  beds.  They  are 
usually  called  "  devil's  slides/'  though  they 
lie  far  above  the  region  usually  haunted 
by  the  devil ;  for  though  we  read  that  he 
once  climbed  an  exceeding  high  mountain, 
he  cannot  be  much  of  a  mountaineer,  for 
his  tracks  are  seldom  seen  above  the  timber- 
line. 

The  broad  gray  summit  is  barren  and 
desolate-looking  in  general  views,  wasted 
by  ages  of  gnawing  storms  ;  but  looking 
at  the  surface  in  detail,  one  finds  it  cov- 
ered by  thousands  and  millions  of  charm- 
ing plants  with  leaves  and  flowers  so  small 
they  form  no  mass  of  color  visible  at  a 
distance  of  a  few  hundred  yards.  Beds  of 
azure  daisies  smile  confidingly  in  moist  hol- 
lows, and  along  the  banks  of  small  rills, 
with  several  species  of  eriogonum,  silky- 

[   202   ] 


In  the  Sierra 

leaved  ivesia,  pentstemon,  orthocarpus,  and 
patches  of  Primula  suffruticosa,  a  beautiful 
shrubby  species.  Here  also  I  found  bryan- 
thus,  a  charming  heathwort  covered  with 
purple  flowers  and  dark  green  foliage  like 
heather,  and  three  trees  new  to  me,  — 
a  hemlock  and  two  pines.  The  hemlock 
(Tsuga  Mertensiana]  is  the  most  beautiful 
conifer  I  have  ever  seen ;  the  branches  and 
also  the  main  axis  droop  in  a  singularly 
graceful  way,  and  the  dense  foliage  covers 
the  delicate,  sensitive,  swaying  branchlets 
all  around.  It  is  now  in  full  bloom,  and 
the  flowers,  together  with  thousands  of  last 
season's  cones  still  clinging  to  the  droop- 
ing sprays,  display  wonderful  wealth  of 
color,  brown  and  purple  and  blue.  Gladly 
I  climbed  the  first  tree  I  found  to  revel  in 
the  midst  of  it.  How  the  touch  of  the 
flowers  makes  one's  flesh  tingle  !  The  pis- 
tillate are  dark,  rich  purple,  and  almost 
translucent,  the  staminate  blue,  —  a  vivid, 
pure  tone  of  blue  like  the  mountain  sky, - 
[  203  ] 


My  First  Summer 

the  most  uncommonly  beautiful  of  all  the 
Sierra  tree  flowers  I  have  seen.  How  won- 
derful that,  with  all  its  delicate  feminine 
grace  and  beauty  of  form  and  dress  and 
behavior,  this  lovely  tree  up  here,  exposed 
to  the  wildest  blasts,  has  already  endured 
the  storms  of  centuries  of  winters  ! 

The  two  pines  also  are  brave  storm- 
enduring  trees,  the  mountain  pine  (Pinus 
monticola]  and  the  dwarf  pine  (Pinus  albi- 
caulis).  The  mountain  pine  is  closely  related 
to  the  sugar  pine,  though  the  cones  are  only 
about  four  to  six  inches  long.  The  largest 
trees  are  from  five  to  six  feet  in  diame- 
ter at  four  feet  above  the  ground,  the 
bark  rich  brown.  Only  a  few  storm-beaten 
adventurers  approach  the  summit  of  the 
mountain.  The  dwarf  or  white-bark  pine 
is  tfhe  species  that  forms  the  timber-line, 
where  it  is  so  completely  dwarfed  that 
one  may  walk  over  the  top  of  a  bed  of 
it  as  over  snow-pressed  chaparral. 

How  boundless  the  day  seems  as  we  revel 
[  204  ] 


Foliage  and  Cones  of  Sierra  Hemlock  (T'suga  Mertensiana) 


In  the  Sierra 

in  these  storm-beaten  sky  gardens  amid  so 
vast  a  congregation  of  onlooking  moun- 
tains !  Strange  and  admirable  it  is  that  the 
more  savage  and  chilly  and  storm-chafed 
the  mountains,  the  finer  the  glow  on  their 
faces  and  the  finer  the  plants  they  bear. 
The  myriads  of  flowers  tingeing  the  moun- 
tain-top do  not  seem  to  have  grown  out 
of  the  dry,  rough  gravel  of  disintegration, 
but  rather  they  appear  as  visitors,  a  cloud 
of  witnesses  to  Nature's  love  in  what  we  in 
our  timid  ignorance  and  unbelief  call  howl- 
ing desert.  The  surface  of  the  ground,  so 
dull  and  forbidding  at  first  sight,  besides  be- 
ing rich  in  plants,  shines  and  sparkles  with 
crystals :  mica,  hornblende,  feldspar,  quartz, 
tourmaline.  The  radiance  in  some  places 
is  so  great  as  to  be  fairly  dazzling,  keen 
lance  rays  of  every  color  flashing,  sparkling 
in  glorious  abundance,  joining  the  plants 
in  their  fine,  brave  beauty-work,  —  every 
crystal,  every  flower  a  window  opening  into 
heaven,  a  mirror  reflecting  the  Creator. 
[  205  ] 


My  First  Summer 

From  garden  to  garden,  ridge  to  ridge,  I 
drifted  enchanted,  now  on  my  knees  gazing 
into  the  face  of  a  daisy,  now  climbing  again 
and  again  among  the  purple  and  azure  flow- 
ers of  the  hemlocks,  now  down  into  the 
treasuries  of  the  snow,  or  gazing  afar  over 
domes  and  peaks,  lakes  and  woods,  and  the 
billowy  glaciated  fields  of  the  upper  Tuo- 
lumne,  and  trying  to  sketch  them.  In  the 
midst  of  such  beauty,  pierced  with  its  rays, 
one's  body  is  all  one  tingling  palate.  Who 
would  n't  be  a  mountaineer  !  Up  here  all 
the  world's  prizes  seem  nothing. 

The  largest  of  the  many  glacier  lakes  in 
sight,  and  the  one  with  the  finest  shore 
scenery,  is  Tenaya,  about  a  mile  long,  with 
an  imposing  mountain  dipping  its  feet  into 
it  on  the  south  side,  Cathedral  Peak  a  few 
miles  above  its  head,  many  smooth  swell- 
ing rock-waves  and  domes  on  the  north, 
and  in  the  distance  southward  a  multitude 
of  snowy  peaks,  the  fountain-heads  of  riv- 
ers. Lake  Hoffman  lies  shimmering  be- 

[    206    ] 


In  the  Sierra 

neath  my  feet,  mountain  pines  around  its 
shining  rim.  To  the  northward  the  pic- 
turesque basin  of  Yosemite  Creek  glitters 
with  lakelets  and  pools  ;  but  the  eye  is  soon 
drawn  away  from  these  bright  mirror  wells, 
however  attractive,  to  revel  in  the  glorious 
congregation  of  peaks  on  the  axis  of  the 
range  in  their  robes  of  snow  and  light. 

Carlo  caught  an  unfortunate  woodchuck 
when  it  was  running  from  a  grassy  spot  to 
its  boulder-pile  home  —  one  of  the  hardiest 
of  the  mountain  animals.  I  tried  hard  to 
save  him,  but  in  vain.  After  telling  Carlo 
that  he  must  be  careful  not  to  kill  any- 
thing, I  caught  sight,  for  the  first  time,  of 
the  curious  pika,  or  little  chief  hare,  that 
cuts  large  quantities  of  lupines  and  other 
plants  and  lays  them  out  to  dry  in  the  sun 
for  hay,  which  it  stores  in  underground 
barns  to  last  through  the  long,  snowy  win- 
ter. Coming  upon  these  plants  freshly  cut 
and  lying  in  handfuls  here  and  there  on 
the  rocks  has  a  startling  effect  of  busy  life 
[  207  ] 


My  First  Summer 

on  the  lonely  mountain-top.  These  little 
haymakers,  endowed  with  brain  stuff  some- 
thing like  our  own,  —  God  up  here  look- 
ing after  them,  —  what  lessons  they  teach, 
how  they  widen  our  sympathy  ! 

An  eagle  soaring  above  a  sheer  cliff, 
where  I  suppose  its  nest  is,  makes  another 
striking  show  of  life,  and  helps  to  bring 
to  mind  the  other  people  of  the  so-called  sol- 
itude,—  deer  in  the  forest  caring  for  their 
young ;  the  strong,  well-clad,  well-fed  bears  ; 
the  lively  throng  of  squirrels ;  the  blessed 
birds,  great  and  small,  stirring  and  sweet- 
ening the  groves ;  and  the  clouds  of  happy 
insects  filling  the  sky  with  joyous  hum  as 
part  and  parcel  of  the  down-pouring  sun- 
shine. All  these  come  to  mind,  as  well  as 
the  plant  people,  and  the  glad  streams  sing- 
ing their  way  to  the  sea.  But  most  im- 
pressive of  all  is  the  vast  glowing  coun- 

__ 

tenance  of  the  wilderness  in  awful,  infinite 
repose. 

Toward   sunset,   enjoyed   a  fine   run    to 
[  208  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

camp,  down  the  long  south  slopes,  across 
ridges  and  ravines,  gardens  and  avalanche 
gaps,  through  the  firs  and  chaparral,  enjoy- 
ing wild  excitement  and  excess  of  strength, 
and  so  ends  a  day  that  will  never  end. 

yuly  27.  —  Up  and  away  to  Lake  Te- 
naya,  —  another  big  day,  enough  for  a  life- 
time. The  rocks,  the  air,  everything  speak- 
ing with  audible  voice  or  silent ;  joyful, 
wonderful,  enchanting,  banishing  weari- 
ness and  sense  of  time.  No  longing  for 
anything  now  or  hereafter  as  we  go  home 
into  the  mountain's  heart.  The  level  sun- 
beams are  touching  the  fir-tops,  every  leaf 
shining  with  dew.  Am  holding  an  easterly 
course,  the  deep  canon  of  Tenaya  Creek  on 
the  right  hand,  Mt.  Hoffman  on  the  left, 
and  the  lake  straight  ahead  about  ten  miles 
distant,  the  summit  of  Mt.  Hoffman  about 
three  thousand  feet  above  me,  Tenaya  Creek 
four  thousand  feet  below  and  separated 
from  the  shallow,  irregular  valley,  along 
which  most  of  the  way  lies,  by  smooth 
[  209  ] 


My  First  Summer 

domes  and  wave-ridges.  Many  mossy  em- 
erald bogs,  meadows,  and  gardens  in  rocky 
hollows  to  wade  and  saunter  through,  — 
and  what  fine  plants  they  give  me,  what  joy- 
ful streams  I  have  to  cross,  and  how  many 
views  are  displayed  of  the  Hoffman  and 
Cathedral  Peak  masonry,  and  what  a  won- 
drous breadth  of  shining  granite  pavement 
to  walk  over  for  the  first  time  about  the 
shores  of  the  lake  !  On  I  sauntered  in  free- 
dom complete;  body  without  weight  as  far 
as  I  was  aware;  now  wading  through  starry 
parnassia  bogs,  now  through  gardens  shoul- 
der deep  in  larkspur  and  lilies,  grasses  and 
rushes,  shaking  off  showers  of  dew;  cross- 
ing piles  of  crystalline  moraine  boulders, 
bright  mirror  pavements,  and  cool,  cheery 
streams  going  to  Yosemite;  crossing  bryan- 
thus  carpets  and  the  scoured  pathways  of 
avalanches,  and  thickets  of  snow-pressed 
ceanothus;  then  down  a  broad,  majestic 
stairway  into  the  ice-sculptured  lake-basin. 
The  snow  on  the  high  mountains  is  melt- 

[    210    ] 


In  the  Sierra 

ing  fast,  and  the  streams  are  singing  bank- 
full,  swaying  softly  through  the  level  mead- 
ows and  bogs,  quivering  with  sun-spangles, 
swirling  in  pot-holes,  resting  in  deep  pools, 
leaping,  shouting  in  wild,  exulting  energy 
over  rough  boulder  dams,  joyful,  beautiful 
in  all  their  forms.  No  Sierra  landscape  that 
I  have  seen  holds  anything  truly  dead  or 
dull,  or  any  trace  of  what  in  manufactories 
is  called  rubbish  or  waste ;  everything  is 
perfectly  clean  and  pure  and  full  of  divine 
lessons.  This  quick,  inevitable  interest  at- 
taching to  everything  seems  marvelous  un- 
til the  hand  of  God  becomes  visible  ;  then 
it  seems  reasonable  that  what  interests  Him 
may  well  interest  us.  When  we  try  to  pick 
out  anything  by  itself,  we  find  it  hitched 
to  everything  else  in  the  universe.  One  fan- 
cies a  heart  like  our  own  must  be  beating 
in  every  crystal  and  cell,  and  we  feel  like 
stopping  to  speak  to  the  plants  and  animals 
as  friendly  fellow-mountaineers.  Nature  as 
a  poet,  an  enthusiastic  workingman,  be- 

[    211    ] 


My  First  Summer 

comes  more  and  more  visible  the  farther 
and  higher  we  go  ;  for  the  mountains  are 
fountains --beginning  places,  however  re- 
lated to  sources  beyond  mortal  ken. 

I  found  three  kinds  of  meadows  :  — 
(i)  Those  contained  in  basins  not  yet  filled 
with  earth  enough  to  make  a  dry  surface. 
They  are  planted  with  several  species  of 
carex,  and  have  their  margins  diversified 
with  robust  flowering  plants  such  as  vera- 
trum,  larkspur,  lupine,  etc.  (2)  Those  con- 
tained in  the  same  sort  of  basins,  once  lakes 
like  the  first,  but  so  situated  in  relation  to 
the  streams  that  flow  through  them  and 
beds  of  transportable  sand,  gravel,  etc.,  that 
they  are  now  high  and  dry  and  well  drained. 
This  dry  condition  and  corresponding  dif- 
ference in  their  vegetation  may  be  caused 
by  no  superiority  of  position,  or  power  of 
transporting  filling  material  in  the  streams 
that  belong  to  them,  but  simply  by  the 
basin  being  shallow  and  therefore  sooner 
filled.  They  are  planted  with  grasses,  mostly 

[    212    ] 


In  the  Sierra 

fine,  silky,  and  rather  short-leaved,  Gala- 
magrostis  and  Agrostis  being  the  principal 
genera.  They  form  delightfully  smooth, 
level  sods  in  which  one  finds  two  or  three 
species  of  gentian  and  as  many  of  purple 
and  yellow  orthocarpus,  violet,  vaccinium, 
kalmia,  bryanthus,  and  lonicera.  (3)  Mead- 
ows hanging  on  ridge  and  mountain  slopes, 
not  in  basins  at  all,  but  made  and  held  in 
place  by  masses  of  boulders  and  fallen  trees, 
which,  forming  dams  one  above  another  in 
close  succession  on  small,  outspread,  chan- 
nelless  streams,  have  collected  soil  enough 
for  the  growth  of  grasses,  carices,  and  many 
flowering  plants,  and  being  kept  well  wa- 
tered, without  being  subject  to  currents 
sufficiently  strong  to  carry  them  away,  a 
hanging  or  sloping  meadow  is  the  result. 
Their  surfaces  are  seldom  so  smooth  as  the 
others,  being  roughened  more  or  less  by 
the  projecting  tops  of  the  dam  rocks  or 
logs  ;  but  at  a  little  distance  this  rough- 
ness is  not  noticed,  and  the  effect  is  very 
[  213  ] 


My  First  Summer 

striking,  —  bright  green,  fluent,  down-sweep- 
ing flowery  ribbons  on  gray  slopes.  The 
broad  shallow  streams  these  meadows  be- 
long to  are  mostly  derived  from  banks  of 
snow  and  because  the  soil  is  well  drained 
in  some  places,  while  in  others  the  dam 
rocks  are  packed  close  and  caulked  with 
bits  of  wood  and  leaves,  making  boggy 
patches;  the  vegetation,  of  course,  is  cor- 
respondingly varied.  I  saw  patches  of  wil- 
low, bryanthus,  and  a  fine  show  of  lilies 
on  some  of  them,  not  forming  a  margin, 
but  scattered  about  among  the  carex  and 
grass.  Most  of  these  meadows  are  now  in 
their  prime.  How  wonderful  must  be  the 
temper  of  the  elastic  leaves  of  grasses  and 
sedges  to  make  curves  so  perfect  and  fine, 
Tempered  a  little  harder,  they  would  stand 
erect,  stiff"  and  bristly,  like  strips  of  metal ; 
a  little  softer,  and  every  leaf  would  lie  flat, 
And  what  fine  painting  and  tinting  there 
is  on  the  glumes  and  pales,  stamens  and 
feathery  pistils.  Butterflies  colored  like  the 
[  214  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

flowers  waver  above  them  in  wonderful 
profusion,  and  many  other  beautiful  winged 
people,  numbered  and  known  and  loved 
only  by  the  Lord,  are  waltzing  together 
high  over  head,  seemingly  in  pure  play  and 
hilarious  enjoyment  of  their  little  sparks 
of  life.  How  wonderful  they  are  !  How  do 
they  get  a  living,  and  endure  the  weather  ? 
How  are  their  little  bodies,  with  muscles, 
nerves,  organs,  kept  warm  and  jolly  in  such 
admirable  exuberant  health  ?  Regarded  only 
as  mechanical  inventions,  how  wonderful 
they  are  !  Compared  with  these,  Godlike 
man's  greatest  machines  are  as  nothing. 

Most  of  the  sandy  gardens  on  moraines 
are  in  prime  beauty  like  the  meadows, 
though  some  on  the  north  sides  of  rocks 
and  beneath  groves  of  sapling  pines  have 
not  yet  bloomed.  On  sunny  sheets  of  crys- 
tal soil  along  the  slopes  of  the  Hoffman 
mountains,  I  saw  extensive  patches  of  ive- 
sia  and  purple  gilia  with  scarce  a  green  leaf, 
making  fine  clouds  of  color.  Ribes  bushes, 
[  215  ] 


My  First  Summer 

vaccinium,  and  kalmia,  now  in  flower, 
make  beautiful  rugs  and  borders  along  the 
banks  of  the  streams.  Shaggy  beds  of  dwarf 
oak  (^uercuscbrysolepis,  var.  vaccinifolid}  over 
which  one  may  walk  are  common  on  rocky 
moraines,  yet  this  is  the  same  species  as  the 
large  live  oak  seen  near  Brown's  Flat.  The 
most  beautiful  of  the  shrubs  is  the  purple- 
flowered  bryanthus,  here  making  glorious 
carpets  at  an  elevation  of  nine  thousand  feet. 
The  principal  tree  for  the  first  mile  or 
two  from  camp  is  the  magnificent  silver  fir, 
which  reaches  perfection  here  both  in  size 
and  form  of  individual  trees  and  in  the  mode 
of  grouping  in  groves  with  open  spaces  be- 
tween. So  trim  and  tasteful  are  these  sil- 
very, spiry  groves  one  would  fancy  they 
must  have  been  placed  in  position  by  some 
master  landscape  gardener,  their  regularity 
seeming  almost  conventional.  But  Nature 
is  the  only  gardener  able  to  do  work  so 
fine.  A  few  noble  specimens  two  hundred 
feet  high  occupy  central  positions  in  the 
[  216] 


Magnificent  Stiver  Firs  (Mr,  Muir  in  foreground} 


In  the  Sierra 

roups  with  younger  trees  around  them  ; 
ind  outside  of  these  another  circle  of  yet 
smaller  ones,  the  whole  arranged  like  taste- 
fully symmetrical  bouquets,  every  tree  fitting 
icely  the  place  assigned  to  it  as  if  made  es- 
pecially for  it ;  small  roses  and  eriogonums 
ire  usually  found  blooming  on  the  open 
spaces  about  the  groves,  forming  charm- 
ing pleasure  grounds.  Higher,  the  firs  grad- 
lally  become  smaller  and  less  perfect,  many 
showing  double  summits,  indicating  storm 
stress.  Still,  where  good  moraine  soil  is 
found,  even  on  the  rim  of  the  lake-basin, 
specimens  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in 
leight  and  five  feet  in  diameter  occur  nearly 
tine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  The  sap- 
lings, I  find,  are  mostly  bent  with  the  crush- 
ing weight  of  the  winter  snow,  which  at  this 
elevation  must  be  at  least  eight  or  ten  feet 
[eep,  judging  by  marks  on  the  trees ;  and 
:his  depth  of  compacted  snow  is  heavy 
mough  to  bend  and  bury  young  trees  twenty 
ir  thirty  feet  in  height  and  hold  them 
[  217  ] 


My  First  Summer 

down  for  four  or  five  months.  Some  are 
broken ;  the  others  spring  up  when  the  snow 
melts  and  at  length  attain  a  size  that  en- 
ables them  to  withstand  the  snow  pressure. 
Yet  even  in  trees  five  feet  thick  the  traces 
of  this  early  discipline  are  still  plainly  to 
be  seen  in  their  curved  insteps,  and  fre- 
quently in  old  dried  saplings  protruding 
from  the  trunk,  partially  overgrown  by  the 
new  axis  developed  from  a  branch  below 
the  break.  Yet  through  all  this  stress  the 
forest  is  maintained  in  marvelous  beauty. 

Beyond  the  silver  firs  I  find  the  two- 
leaved  pine  (Pinus  contorta9vzr.  Murray  ana) 
forms  the  bulk  of  the  forest  up  to  an  ele- 
vation often  thousand  feet  or  more, --the 
highest  timber-belt  of  the  Sierra.  I  saw  a 
specimen  nearly  five  feet  in  diameter  grow- 
ing on  deep,  well-watered  soil  at  an  ele- 
vation of  about  nine  thousand  feet.  The 
form  of  this  species  varies  very  much  with 
position,  exposure,  soil,  etc.  On  stream- 
banks,  where  it  is  closely  planted,  it  is  very 
[  218  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

slender  ;   some  specimens  seventy-five  feet 
high  do  not  exceed  five  inches  in  diameter 
t  the  ground,  but  the  ordinary  form,  as  far 
s  I  have  seen,  is  well  proportioned.   The 
verage  diameter  when  full  grown  at  this 
levation  is  about  twelve  or  fourteen  inches, 
eight   forty   or  fifty  feet,   the   straggling 
branches  bent  up  at  the  end,  the  bark  thin 
and  bedraggled  with  amber-colored  resin. 
The  pistillate  flowers  form  little  crimson 
rosettes  a  fourth   of  an  inch  in  diameter 
on  the  ends  of  the  branchlets,  mostly  hid- 
den in   the   leaf-tassels ;    the  staminate  are 
about   three   eighths   of  an    inch    in    dia- 
meter, sulphur-yellow,  in   showy  clusters, 
giving  a  remarkably  rich  effect,  —  a  brave, 
hardy    mountaineer    pine,  growing   cheer- 
ly  on  rough    beds    of  avalanche   boulders 
and  joints  of  rock  pavements,  as  well   as 
in   fertile    hollows,    standing     up    to    the 
waist  in  snow  every  winter  for  centuries, 
facing   a    thousand    storms  and    blooming 
every  year   in    colors    as    bright    as    those 
[  219  ] 


My  First  Summer 

worn   by  the    sun-drenched    trees    of   the 
tropics. 

A  still  hardier  mountaineer  is  the  Si- 
erra juniper  (yuniperus  occidentalis^  growing 
mostly  on  domes  and  ridges  and  glacier 
pavements.  A  thickset,  sturdy,  picturesque 
highlander,  seemingly  content  to  live  for 
more  than  a  score  of  centuries  on  sunshine 
and  snow;  a  truly  wonderful  fellow,  dogged 
endurance  expressed  in  every  feature,  last- 
ing about  as  long  as  the  granite  he  stands 
on.  Some  are  nearly  as  broad  as  high.  I 
saw  one  on  the  shore  of  the  lake  nearly 
ten  feet  in  diameter,  and  many  six  to  eight 
feet.  The  bark,  cinnamon-colored,  flakes 
off  in  long  ribbon-like  strips  with  a  satiny 
lustre.  Surely  the  most  enduring  of  all  tree 
mountaineers,  it  never  seems  to  die  a  natu- 
ral death,  or  even  to  fall  after  it  has  been 
killed.  If  protected  from  accidents,  it  would 
perhaps  be  immortal.  I  saw  some  that  had 
withstood  an  avalanche  from  snowy  Mt. 
Hoffman  cheerily  putting  out  new  branches, 

[    220] 


In  the  Sierra 

as  if  repeating,  like  Grip,  "Never  say  die." 
Some  were  simply  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment where  no  fissure  more  than  half  an 
inch  wide  offered  a  hold  for  its  roots.  The 
common  height  for  these  rock-dwellers 


JUNIPERS    IN  TENAYA    CANON 

is  from  ten  to  twenty  feet ;  most  of  the 
old  ones  have  broken  tops,  and  are  mere 
stumps,  with  a  few  tufted  branches,  form- 
ing picturesque  brown  pillars  on  bare  pave- 
ments, with  plenty  of  elbow-room  and  a 

[    221    ] 


My  First  Summer 

clear   view   in   every   direction.    On    good 

moraine  soil  it  reaches  a  height  of  from 

i  ° 

forty  to  sixty  feet,  with  dense  gray  foliage. 
The  rings  of  the  trunk  are  very  thin,  eighty 
to  an  inch  of  diameter  in  some  specimens 
I  examined.  Those  ten  feet  in  diameter 
must  be  very  old  —  thousands  of  years. 
Wish  I  could  live,  like  these  junipers,  on 
sunshine  and  snow,  and  stand  beside  them 
on  the  shore  of  Lake  Tenaya  for  a  thousand 
years.  How  much  I  should  see,  and  how 
delightful  it  would  be  !  Everything  in  the 
mountains  would  find  me  and  come  to  me, 
and  everything  from  the  heavens  like  light. 
The  lake  was  named  for  one  of  the  chiefs 
of  the  Yosemite  tribe.  Old  Tenaya  is  said 
to  have  been  a  good  Indian  to  his  tribe. 
When  a  company  of  soldiers  followed  his 
band  into  Yosemite  to  punish  them  for 
cattle-stealing  and  other  crimes,  they  fled 
to  this  lake  by  a  trail  that  leads  out  of  the 
upper  end  of  the  valley,  early  in  the  spring, 
while  the  snow  was  still  deep  ;  but  being 

[    222    ] 


In  the  Sierra 

pursued,  they  lost  heart  and  surrendered. 
A  fine  monument  the  old  man  has  in  this 
bright  lake,  and  likely  to  last  a  long  time, 
though  lakes  die  as  well  as  Indians,  being 

;radually  filled  with  detritus  carried  in  by 
:he  feeding  streams,  and  to  some  extent 
ilso  by  snow  avalanches  and  rain  and  wind, 
considerable  portion  of  the  Tenaya  basin 
already  changed  into  a  forested  flat  and 

icadow  at  the  upper  end,  where  the  main 
tributary  enters  from  Cathedral  Peak.  Two 
>ther  tributaries  come  from  the  Hoffman 

,ange.  The  outlet  flows  westward  through 

'enaya  Canon  to  join  the  Merced  River  in 

'osemite.  Scarce  a  handful  of  loose  soil  is 
:o  be  seen  on  the  north  shore.  All  is  bare, 
;hining  granite,  suggesting  the  Indian  name 
)f  the  lake,  Pywiack,  meaning  shining  rock. 

'he  basin  seems  to  have  been  slowly  ex- 
:avated  by  the  ancient  glaciers,  a  marvel- 
>us  work  requiring  countless  thousands  of 
rears.  On  the  south  side  an  imposing  moun- 

tin  rises  from  the  water's  edge  to  a  height 

[223  ] 


My  First  Summer 

of  three  thousand  feet  or  more,  feathered 
with  hemlock  and  pine ;  and  huge  shining 
domes  on  the  east,  over  the  tops  of  which 
the  grinding,  wasting,  molding  glacier  must 
have  swept  as  the  wind  does  to-day. 

July  28. —  No  cloud  mountains,  only 
curly  cirrus  wisps  scarce  perceptible,  and  the 
want  of  thunder  to  strike  the  noon  hour 
seems  strange,  as  if  the  Sierra  clock  had 
stopped.  Have  been  studying  the  magnified 
fir,  —  measured  one  near  two  hundred  and 
forty  feet  high,  the  tallest  I  have  yet  seen. 
This  species  is  the  most  symmetrical  of  all 
conifers,  but  though  gigantic  in  size  it  sel- 
dom lives  more  than  four  or  five  hundred 
years.  Most  of  the  trees  die  from  the  attacks 
of  a  fungus  at  the  age  of  two  or  three  cen- 
turies. This  dry-rot  fungus  perhaps  enters 
the  trunk  by  way  of  the  stumps  of  limbs 
broken  off  by  the  snow  that  loads  the  broad 
palmate  branches.  The  younger  specimens 
are  marvels  of  symmetry,  straight  and  erect 
as  a  plumb-line,  their  branches  in  regular 
[  224  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

level  whorls  of  five  mostly,  each  branch  as 
exact  in  its  divisions  as  a  fern  frond,  and 
thickly  covered  by  the  leaves,  making  a 
rich  plush  over  all  the  tree,  excepting  only 
the  trunk  and  a  small  portion  of  the  main 
limbs.  The  leaves  turn  upward,  especially 
on  the  branchlets,  and  are  stiff  and  sharp, 
pointed  on  all  the  upper  portion  of  the 
tree.  They  remain  on  the  tree  about  eight 
or  ten  years,  and  as  the  growth  is  rapid  it 
is  not  rare  to  find  the  leaves  still  in  place 
on  the  upper  part  of  the  axis  where  it  is 
three  to  four  inches  in  diameter,  wide  apart 
of  course,  and  their  spiral  arrangement  beau- 
tifully displayed.  The  leaf-scars  are  con- 
spicuous for  twenty  years  or  more,  but 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  variation  in  different 
trees  as  to  the  thickness  and  sharpness  of 
the  leaves. 

After  the  excursion  to   Mt.  Hoffman  I 

had  seen  a   complete  cross-section  of  the 

Sierra  forest,  and  I  find  that  Abies  magnified 

is   the  most    symmetrical   tree   of   all    the 

[  225  ] 


My  First  Summer 

noble  coniferous  company.  The  cones  are 
grand  affairs,  superb  in  form,  size,  and 
color,  cylindrical,  stand  erect  on  the  upper 
branches  like  casks,  and  are  from  five  to 
eight  inches  in  length  by.  three  or  four  in 
diameter,  greenish  gray,  and  covered  with 
fine  down  which  has  a  silvery  lustre  in  the 
sunshine,  and  their  brilliance  is  augmented 
by  beads  of  transparent  balsam  which  seems 
to  have  been  poured  over  each  cone,  bring- 
ing to  mind  the  old  ceremonies  of  anoint- 
ing with  oil.  If  possible,  the  inside  of  the 
cone  is  more  beautiful  than  the  outside;  the 
scales,  bracts,  and  seed  wings  are  tinted 
with  the  loveliest  rosy  purple  with  a  bright 
lustrous  iridescence ;  the  seeds,  three  fourths 
of  an  inch  long,  are  dark  brown.  When 
the  cones  are  ripe  the  scales  and  bracts  fall 
ofF,  setting  the  seeds  free  to  fly  to  their 
predestined  places,  while  the  dead  spike- 
like  axes  are  left  on  the  branches  for  many 
years  to  mark  the  positions  of  the  vanished 
cones,  excepting  those  cut  off  when  green 
[  226] 


In  the  Sierra 

by  the  Douglas  squirrel.  How  he  gets  his 
teeth  under  the  broad  bases  of  the  sessile 
cones,  I  don't  know.  Climbing  these  trees 
on  a  sunny  day  to  visit  the  growing  cones 
and  to  gaze  over  the  tops  of  the  forest  is 
one  of  my  best  enjoyments. 

July  29.  -  -  Bright,  cool,  exhilarating. 
Clouds  about  .05.  Another  glorious  day  of 
rambling,  sketching,  and  universal  enjoy- 
ment. 

July  30. --Clouds  .20,  but  the  regular 
shower  did  not  reach  us,  though  thunder 
was  heard  a  few  miles  off  striking  the  noon 
hour.  Ants,  flies,  and  mosquitoes  seem  to  en- 
joy this  fine  climate.  A  few  house  flies  have 
discovered  our  camp.  The  Sierra  mosqui- 
toes are  courageous  and  of  good  size,  some 
of  them  measuring  nearly  an  inch  from  tip 
of  sting  to  tip  of  folded  wings.  Though 
less  abundant  than  in  most  wildernesses, 
they  occasionally  make  quite  a  hum  and 
stir,  and  pay  but  little  attention  to  time  or 
place.  They  sting  anywhere,  any  time  of 
[  227] 


My  First  Summer 

day,  wherever  they  can  find  anything  worth 
while,  until  they  are  themselves  stung  by 
frost.  The  Jarge  jet-black  ants  are  only 
ticklish  and  troublesome  when  one  is  lying 
down  under  the  trees.  Noticed  a  borer 
drilling  a  silver  fir.  Ovipositor  about  an 
mch  and  a  half  in  length,  polished  and 
straight  like  a  needle.  When  not  in  use, 
it  is  folded  back  in  a  sheath,  which  ex- 
tends straight  behind  like  the  legs  of  a 
crane  in  flying.  This  drilling,  I  suppose,  is 
to  save  nest  building,  and  the  after  care  of 
feeding  the  young.  Who  would  guess  that 
in  the  brain  of  a  fly  so  much  knowledge 
could  find  lodgment  ?  How  do  they  know 
that  their  eggs  will  hatch  in  such  holes, 
or,  after  they  hatch,  that  the  soft,  help- 
less grubs  will  find  the  right  sort  of  nour- 
ishment in  silver  fir  sap?  This  domestic 
arrangement  calls  to  mind  the  curious  fam- 
ily of  gallflies.  Each  species  seems  to  know 
what  kind  of  plant  will  respond  to  the  irri- 
tation or  stimulus  of  the  puncture  it  makes 

[   228   ] 


In  the  Sierra 

ind  the  eggs  it  lays,  in  forming  a  growth 
:hat  not  only  answers  for  a  nest  and  home 
•ut  also  provides  food  for  the  young.  Prob- 
ibly  these  gallflies  make  mistakes  at  times, 
[ike  anybody  else  ;  but  when  they  do,  there 
is  simply  a  failure  of  that  particular  brood, 
while  enough  to  perpetuate  the  species  do 
find  the  proper  plants  and  nourishment. 
Many  mistakes  of  this  kind  might  be  made 
without  being  discovered  by  us.  Once  a 
pair  of  wrens  made  the  mistake  of  build- 
ing a  nest  in  the  sleeve  of  a  workman's 
coat,  which  was  called  for  at  sundown, 
much  to  the  consternation  and  discomfiture 
of  the  birds.  Still  the  marvel  remains  that 
any  of  the  children  of  such  small  people  as 
gnats  and  mosquitoes  should  escape  their 
own  and  their 'parents'  mistakes,  as  well  as 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  weather  and  hosts 
of  enemies,  and  come  forth  in  full  vigor 
and  perfection  to  enjoy  the  sunny  world. 
When  we  think  of  the  small  creatures  that 
are  visible,  we  are  led  to  think  of  many  that 
[  229] 


My  First  Summer 

are  smaller  still  and  lead  us  on  and  on  into 
infinite  mystery. 

July  3 1 .  —  Another  glorious  day,  the  air 
as  delicious  to  the  lungs  as  nectar  to  the 
tongue ;  indeed  the  body  seems  one  palate, 
and  tingles  equally  throughout.  Cloudiness 
about  .05,  but  our  ordinary  shower  has  not 
yet  reached  us,  though  I  hear  thunder  in 
the  distance. 

The  cheery  little  chipmunk,  so  common 
about  Brown's  Flat,  is  common  here  also, 
and  perhaps  other  species.  In  their  light, 
airy  habits  they  recall  the  familiar  species 
of  the  Eastern  States,  which  we  admired 
in  the  oak  openings  of  Wisconsin  as  they 
skimmed  along  the  zigzag  rail  fences.  These 
Sierra  chipmunks  are  more  arboreal  and 
squirrel-like.  I  first  noticed  them  on  the 
lower  edge  of  the  coniferous  belt,  where  the 
Sabine  and  yellow  pines  meet,  —  exceed- 
ingly interesting  little  fellows,  full  of  odd, 
funny  ways,  and  without  being  true  squir- 
rels, have  most  of  their  accomplishments 
[  230] 


In  the  Sierra 

without  their  aggressive  quarrelsomeness. 
I  never  weary  watching  them  as  they  frisk 
about  in  the  bushes  gathering  seeds  and 
berries,  like  song  sparrows  poising  daintily 
on  slender  twigs,  and  making  even  less  stir 
than  most  birds  of  the  same  size.  Few 
of  the  Sierra  animals  interest  me  more ; 
they  are  so  able,  gentle,  confiding,  and 
beautiful,  they  take  one's  heart,  and  get 
themselves  adopted  as  darlings.  Though 
weighing  hardly  more  than  field  mice, 
they  are  laborious  collectors  of  seeds,  nuts, 
and  cones,  and  are  therefore  well  fed,  but 
never  in  the  least  swollen  with  fat  or 
lazily  full.  On  the  contrary,  of  their  frisky, 
birdlike  liveliness  there  is  no  end.  They 
have  a  great  variety  of  notes  correspond- 
ing with  their  movements,  some  sweet  and 
liquid,  like  water  dripping  with  tinkling 
sounds  into  pools.  They  seem  dearly  to 
love  teasing  a  dog,  coming  frequently  al- 
most within  reach,  then  frisking  away  with 
lively  chipping,  like  sparrows,  beating  time 
[  231  ] 


My  First  Summer 

to  their  music  with  their  tails,  which  at 
each  chip  describe  half  circles  from  side 
to  side.  Not  even  the  Douglas  squirrel  is 
surer-footed  or  more  fearless.  I  have  seen 
them  running  about  on  sheer  precipices  of 
the  Yosemite  walls  seemingly  holding  on 
with  as  little  effort  as  flies,  and  as  uncon- 
scious of  danger,  where,  if  the  slightest  slip 
were  made,  they  would  have  fallen  two 
or  three  thousand  feet.  How  fine  it  would 
be  could  we  mountaineers  climb  these  tre- 
mendous cliffs  with  the  same  sure  grip !  The 
venture  I  made  the  other  day  for  a  view 
of  the  Yosemite  Fall,  and  which  tried  my 
nerves  so  sorely,  this  little  Tamias  would 
have  made  for  an  ear  of  grass. 

The  woodchuck  (Arctomys  monax}  of  the 
bleak  .mountain-tops  is  a  very  different  sort 
of  mountaineer  —  the  most  bovine  of  ro- 
dents, a  heavy  eater,  fat,  aldermanic  in  bulk 
and  fairly  bloated,  in  his  high  pastures,  like 
a  cow  in  a  clover  field.  One  woodchuck 
would  outweigh  a  hundred  chipmunks,  and 
[  232  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

yet  he  is  by  no  means  a  dull  animal.   In  the 
midst  of  what  we  regard  as   storm-beaten 
lesolation  he  pipes  and  whistles  right  cheer- 
ily, and  enjoys  long  life  in  hisskyland  homes, 
is  burrow  is  made  in  disintegrated  rocks 
>r  beneath  large  boulders.   Coming  out  of 
lis  den  in  the  cold  hoarfrost  mornings,  he 
ikes  a  sun-bath  on  some  favorite  flat-topped 
•ock,  then  goes  to  breakfast  in  garden  hol- 
lows, eats  grass  and  flowers  until  comfort- 
ibly  swollen,  then  goes  a-visiting  to  fight 
ind  play.   How  long  a  woodchuck  lives  in 
lis  bracing  air  I  don't  know,  but  some  of 
them  are  rusty  and  gray  like  lichen-covered 
moulders. 

August  i .  —  A  grand  cloudland  and  five- 
dnute  shower,  refreshing  the  blessed  wil- 
lerness,  already  so  fragrant  and  fresh,  steep- 
ing the  black  meadow  mold  and  dead  leaves 
like  tea. 

The  waycup,  or  flicker,  so  familiar  to 
jvery  boy  in  the  old  Middle  West  States, 
is  one  of  the  most  common  of  the  wood- 
[  233  ] 


My  First  Summer 

peckers  hereabouts,  and  makes  one  feel  at 
home.  I  can  see  no  difference  in  plumage 
or  habits  from  the  Eastern  species,  though 
the  climate  here  is  so  different, -- a  fine, 
brave,  confiding,  beautiful  bird.  The  robin, 
too,  is  here,  with  all  his  familiar  notes  and 
gestures,  tripping  daintily  on  open  garden 
spots  and  high  meadows.  Over  all  America 
he  seems  to  be  at  home,  moving  from  the 
plains  to  the  mountains  and  from  north  to 
south,  back  and  forth,  up  and  down,  with 
the  march  of  the  seasons  and  food  supply. 
How  admirable  the  constitution  and  tem- 
per of  this  brave  singer,  keeping  in  cheery 
health  over  so  vast  and  varied  a  range  ! 
Oftentimes,  as  I  wander  through  these  sol- 
emn woods,  awe-stricken  and  silent,  I  hear 
the  reassuring  voice  of  this  fellow  wanderer 
ringing  out,  sweet  and  clear,  "  Fear  not ! 
fear  not  !  " 

The  mountain  quail   (Oreortyx  ricta}   I 
often  meet  in  my  walks,  —  a  small  brown 
partridge  with  a  very  long,  slender,  orna- 
[  234  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

mental   crest  worn  jauntily  like  a  feather 
in   a   boy's   cap,  giving   it   a  very   marked 
ippearance.    This    species    is    considerably 
larger  than   the  valley  quail,  so   common 
>n   the  hot  foothills.   They  seldom  alight 
in  trees,  but  love  to  wander  in  flocks  of 
•om    five   or    six    to    twenty  through    the 
:eanothus  and  manzanita  thickets  and  over 
open,  dry  meadows  and  rocks  of  the  ridges 
where  the  forest  is  less  dense  or  wanting, 
ittering  a   low  clucking   sound  to  enable 
:hem   to   keep    together.    When   disturbed 
:hey  rise  with  a  strong  birr  of  wing-beats, 
ind  scatter  as  if  exploded  to  a  distance  of 
quarter  of  a  mile  or  so.   After  the  danger 
past  they  call  one  another  together  with 
louder  piping  note,  —  Nature's  beautiful 
lountain  chickens.  I  have  not  yet  found 
their  nests.   The  young  of  this  season  are 
ilready  hatched  and  away,  -  -  new   broods 
>f  happy  wanderers  half  as  large  as  their 
>arents.    I  wonder  how  they  live  through 
:he  long  winters,  when  the  ground  is  snow- 
[  235  ]   ' 


My  First  Summer 

covered  ten  feet  deep.  They  must  go  down 
towards  the  lower  edge  of  the  forest,  like 
the  deer,  though  I  have  not  heard  of  them 
there. 

The  blue,  or  dusky,  grouse  is  also  com- 
mon here.  They  like  the  deepest  and  closest 
fir  woods,  and  when  disturbed,  burst  from 
the  branches  of  the  trees  with  a  strong, 
loud  whir  of  wing-beats,  and  vanish  in  a 
wavering,  silent  slide,  without  moving  a 
feather,  —  a  stout,  beautiful  bird  about  the 
size  of  the  prairie  chicken  of  the  old  west, 
spending  most  of  the  time  in  the  trees, 
excepting  the  breeding  season,  when  it 
keeps  to  the  ground.  The  young  are  now 
able  to  fly.  When  scattered  by  man  or  dog, 
they  keep  still  until  the  danger  is  supposed 
to  be  past,  then  the  mother  calls  them  to- 
gether. The  chicks  can  hear  the  call  a  dis- 
tance of  several  hundred  yards,  though  it 
is  not  loud.  Should  the  young  be  unable 
to  fly,  the  mother  feigns  desperate  lame- 
ness or  death  to  draw  one  away,  throwing 
[  236] 


In  the  Sierra 

herself  at  one's  feet  within  two  or  three 
yards,  rolling  over  on  her  back,  kicking  and 
gasping,  so  as  to  deceive  man  or  beast.  They 
are  said  to  stay  all  the  year  in  the  woods 
hereabouts,  taking  shelter  in  dense  tufted 
branches  of  fir  and  yellow  pine  during  snow- 
storms, and  feeding  on  the  young  buds  of 
these  trees.  Their  legs  are  feathered  down 
to  their  toes,  and  I  have  never  heard  of 
their  suffering  in  any  sort  of  weather.  Able 
to  live  on  pine  and  fir  buds,  they  are  for- 
ever independent  in  the  matter  of  food, 
which  troubles  so  many  of  us  and  controls 
our  movements.  Gladly,  if  I  could,  I  would 
live  forever  on  pine  buds,  however  full  of 
turpentine  and  pitch,  for  the  sake  of  this 
;rand  independence.  Just  to 'think  of  our 
sufferings  last  month  merely  for  grist-mill 
flour.  Man  seems  to  have  more  difficulty 
in  gaining  food  than  any  other  of  the  Lord's 
creatures.  For  many  in  towns  it  is  a  con- 
suming, life-long  struggle  ;  for  others,  the 
danger  of  coming  to  want  is  so  great,  the 
[  237  ] 


My  First  Summer 

deadly  habit  of  endless  hoarding  for  the  fu- 
ture is  formed,  which  smothers  all  real  life, 
and  is  continued  long  after  every  reasonable 
need  has  been  over-supplied. 

On  Mt.  Hoffman  I  saw  a  curious  dove- 
colored  bird  that  seemed  half  woodpecker, 
half  magpie  or  crow.  It  screams  something 
like  a  crow,  but  flies  like  a  woodpecker, 
and  has  a  long,  straight  bill,  with  which  I 
saw  it  opening  the  cones  of  the  mountain 
and  white-barked  pines.  It  seems  to  keep 
to  the  heights,  though  no  doubt  it  comes 
down  for  shelter  during  winter,  if  not  for 
food.  So  far  as  food  is  concerned,  these 
bird-mountaineers,  I  guess,  can  glean  nuts 
enough,  even  in  winter,  from  the  different 
kinds  of  conifers;  for  always  there  are  a 
few  that  have  been  unable  to  fly  out  of 
the  cones  and  remain  for  hungry  winter 
gleaners. 

August  2. --Clouds  and  showers,  about 
the  same  as  yesterday.  Sketching  all  day  on 
the  North  Dome  until  four  or  five  o'clock 
[238  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

in    the   afternoon,  when,   as   I   was   busily 
employed  thinking  only  of  the  glorious  Yo- 
semite  landscape,  trying  to  draw  every  tree 
and  every  line  and  feature  of  the  rocks,  I 
was  suddenly,  and  without  warning,   pos- 
sessed with  the  notion  that  my  friend,  Pro- 
fessor J.  D.  Butler,  of  the  State  University 
of  Wisconsin,  was  below  me  in  the  valley, 
ind  I  jumped  up  full  of  the  idea  of  meet- 
ing him,  with  almost  as  much  startling  ex- 
:itement  as  if  he  had  suddenly  touched  me 
to  make  me  look   up.   Leaving   my  work 
without    the   slightest    deliberation,   I    ran 
[own  the  western  slope  of  the  Dome  and 
ilong  the  brink  of  the  valley  wall,  looking 
for  a  way  to  the  bottom,  until  I  came  to  a 
;ide  canon,  which,  judging  by  its  apparently 
:ontinuous  growth  of  trees  and  bushes,  I 
thought  might  afford  a  practical  way  into 
:he  valley,  and  immediately  began  to  make 
the  descent,  late  as  it  was,  as  if  drawn  irre- 
sistibly.  But  after  a  little,  common  sense 
stopped  me  and  explained  that  it  would  be 
[  239  ] 


My  First  Summer 

long  after  dark  ere  I  could  possibly  reach 
the  hotel,  that  the  visitors  would  be  asleep, 
that  nobody  would  know  me,  that  I  had 
no  money  in  my  pockets,  and  moreover 
was  without  a  coat.  I  therefore  compelled 
myself  to  stop,  and  finally  succeeded  in  rea- 
soning myself  out  of  the  notion  of  seeking 
my  friend  in  the  dark,  whose  presence  I 
only  felt  in  a  strange,  telepathic  way.  I  suc- 
ceeded in  dragging  myself  back  through  the 
woods  to  camp,  never  for  a  moment  waver- 
ing, however,  in  my  determination  to  go 
down  to  him  next  morning.  This  I  think 
is  the  most  unexplainable  notion  that  ever 
struck  me.  Had  some  one  whispered  in  my 
ear  while  I  sat  on  the  Dome,  where  I  had 
spent  so  many  days,  that  Professor  Butler 
was  in  the  valley,  I  could  not  have  been 
more  surprised  and  startled.  When  I  was 
leaving  the  university  he  said,  "  Now,  John, 
I  want  to  hold  you  in  sight  and  watch  your 
career.  Promise  to  write  me  at  least  once 
a  year/'  I  received  a  letter  from  him  in 
[  240  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

July,  at  our  first  camp  in  the  Hollow,  writ- 
ten in  May,  in  which  he  said  that  he  might 
possibly  visit  California  some  time  this  sum- 
mer, and  therefore  hoped  to  meet  me.  But 
inasmuch  as  he  named  no  meeting-place, 
and  gave  no  directions  as  to  the  course  he 
would  probably  follow,  and  as  I  should  be 
in  the  wilderness  all  summer,  I  had  not  the 
slightest  hope  of  seeing  him,  and  all  thought 
of  the  matter  had  vanished  from  my  mind 
until  this  afternoon,  when  he  seemed  to  be 
wafted  bodily  almost  against  my  face.  Well, 
to-morrow  I  shall  see ;  for,  reasonable  or 
unreasonable,  I  feel  I  must  go. 

August^.  —  Had  a  wonderful  day.  Found 
Professor  Butler  as  the  compass-needle  finds 
the  pole.  So  last  evening's  telepathy,  tran- 
scendental revelation,  or  whatever  else  it 
may  be  called,  was  true ;  for,  strange  to 
say,  he  had  just  entered  the  valley  by  way 
of  the  Coulterville  Trail  and  was  coming 
up  the  valley  past  El  Capitan  when  his 
presence  struck  me.  Had  he  then  looked 
[  241  ] 


My  First  Summer 

toward  the  North  Dome  with  a  good  glass 
when  it  first  came  in  sight,  he  might  have 
seen  me  jump  up  from  my  work  and  run 
toward  him.  This  seems  the  one  well- 
defined  marvel  of  my  life  of  the  kind 
called  supernatural ;  for,  absorbed  in  glad 
Nature,  spirit-rappings,  second  sight,  ghost 
stories,  etc.,  have  never  interested  me  since 
boyhood,  seeming  comparatively  useless 
and  infinitely  less  wonderful  than  Nature's 
open,  harmonious,  songful,  sunny,  every-day 
beauty. 

This  morning,  when  I  thought  of  having 
to  appear  among  tourists  at  a  hotel,  I  was 
troubled  because  I  had  no  suitable  clothes, 
and  at  best  am  desperately  bashful  and  shy. 
I  was  determined  to  go,  however,  to  see 
my  old  friend  after  two  years  among  stran- 
gers ;  got  on  a  clean  pair  of  overalls,  a  cash- 
mere shirt,  and  a  sort  of  jacket,  —  the 
best  my  camp  wardrobe  afforded,  —  tied 
my  note-book  on  my  belt,  and  strode  away 
on  my  strange  journey,  followed  by  Carlo. 
[  242  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

I  made  my  way  through  the  gap  discov- 
ered last  evening,  which  proved  to  be  In- 
dian Canon.  There  was  no  trail  in  it,  and 
the  rocks  and  brush  were  so  rough  that 
Carlo  frequently  called  me  back  to  help 
him  down  precipitous  places.  Emerging 
from  the  canon  shadows,  I  found  a  man 
making  hay  on  one  of  the  meadows,  and 
asked  him  whether  Professor  Butler  was 
in  the  valley.  "I  don't  know/*  he  replied  ; 
"  but  you  can  easily  find  out  at  the  hotel. 
There  are  but  few  visitors  in  the  valley 
just  now.  A  small  party  came  in  yester- 
day afternoon,  and  I  heard  some  one  called 
Professor  Butler,  or  Butterfield,  or  some 
name  like  that." 

In  front  of  the  gloomy  hotel  I  found  a 
tourist  party  adjusting  their  fishing  tackle. 
They  all  stared  at  me  in  silent  wonder- 
ment, as  if  I  had  been  seen  dropping  down 
through  the  trees  from  the  clouds,  mostly, 
I  suppose,  on  account  of  my  strange  garb. 
Inquiring  for  the  office,  I  was  told  it  was 
[  243  ] 


My  First  Summer 

locked,  and  that  the  landlord  was  away, 
but  I  might  find  the  landlady,  Mrs.  Hutch- 
ings,  in  the  parlor.  I  entered  in  a  sad  state 
of  embarrassment,  and  after  I  had  waited  in 
the  big,  empty  room  and  knocked  at  several 
doors  the  landlady  at  length  appeared,  and 
in  reply  to  my  question  said  she  rather 
thought  Professor  Butler  was  in  the  val- 
ley, but  to  make  sure,  she  would  bring  the 
register  from  the  office.  Among  the  names 
of  the  last  arrivals  I  soon  discovered  the 
Professor's  familiar  handwriting,  at  the  sight 
of  which  bashfulness  vanished ;  and  having 
learned  that  his  party  had  gone  up  the  val- 
ley, —  probably  to  the  Vernal  and  Nevada 
Falls,  —  I  pushed  on  in  glad  pursuit,  my 
heart  now  sure  of  its  prey.  In  less  than  an 
hour  I  reached  the  head  of  the  Nevada 
Canon  at  the  Vernal  Fall,  and  just  out- 
side of  the  spray  discovered  a  distinguished- 
looking  gentleman,  who,  like  everybody  else 
I  have  seen  to-day,  regarded  me  curiously 
as  I  approached.  When  I  made  bold  to  in- 
[  244  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

quire  if  he  knew  where  Professor  Butler 
was,  he  seemed  yet  more  curious  to  know 
what  could  possibly  have  happened  that  re- 
quired a  messenger  for  the  Professor,  and 
instead  of  answering  my  question  he  asked 
with  military  sharpness, "  Who  wants  him  ? " 
I  want  him,"  I  replied  with  equal  sharp- 
ness. "Why?  Do  you  know  him?"  "Yes," 
I  said.  "Do  you  know  him?"  Astonished 
t  any  one  in  the  mountains  could  pos- 
sibly know  Professor  Butler  and  find  him 
as  soon  as  he  had  reached  the  valley,  he 
came  down  to  meet  the  strange  moun- 
taineer on  equal  terms,  and  courteously  re- 
plied, "  Yes,  I  know  Professor  Butler  very 
well.  I  am  General  Alvord,  and  we  were 
fellow  students  in  Rutland,  Vermont,  long 
ago,  when  we  were  both  young."  "  But 
where  is  he  now?"  I  persisted,  cutting  short 
lis  story.  "  He  has  gone  beyond  the  falls 
with  a  companion,  to  try  to  climb  that 
big  rock,  the  top  of  which  you  see  from 
here."  His  guide  now  volunteered  the  in- 
[  245  ] 


My  First  Summer 

formation  that  it  was  the  Liberty  Cap  Pro- 
fessor Butler  and  his  companion  had  gone 
to  climb,  and  that  if  I  waited  at  the  head 
of  the  fall  I  should  be  sure  to  find  them 
on  their  way  down.  I  therefore  climbed 
the  ladders  alongside  the  Vernal  Fall,  and 
was  pushing  forward,  determined  to  go  to 
the  top  of  Liberty  Cap  rock  in  my  hurry, 
rather  than  wait,  if  I  should  not  meet  my 
friend  sooner.  So  heart-hungry  at  times 
may  one  be  to  see  a  friend  in  the  flesh, 
however  happily  full  and  care-free  one's 
life  may  be.  I  had  gone  but  a  short  dis- 
tance, however,  above  the  brow  of  the  Ver- 
nal Fall  when  I  caught  sight  of  him  in 
the  brush  and  rocks,  half  erect,  groping 
his  way,  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  vest  open, 
hat  in  his  hand,  evidently  very  hot  and 
tired.  When  he  saw  me  coming  he  sat 
down  on  a  boulder  to  wipe  the  perspi- 
ration from  his  brow  and  neck,  and  taking 
me  for  one  of  the  valley  guides,  he  in- 
quired the  way  to  the  fall  ladders.  I  pointed 
[  246] 


In  the  Sierra 

out  the  path  marked  with  little  piles  of 
stones,  on  seeing  which  he  called  his  com- 
panion, saying  that  the  way  was  found ; 
but  he  did  not  yet  recognize  me.  Then  I 
stood  directly  in  front  of  him,  looked  him 
in  the  face,  and  held  out  my  hand.  He 
thought  I  was  offering  to  assist  him  in 
rising.  "Never  mind,"  he  said.  Then  I  said, 
"Professor  Butler,  don't  you  know  me?" 
"  I  think*  not,"  he  replied  ;  but  catching 
my  eye,  sudden  recognition  followed,  and 

istonishment  that  I  should  have  found  him 
just  when  he  was  lost  in  the  brush  and 

[id  not  know  that  I  was  within  hundreds 

>f  miles  of  him.  "John  Muir,  John  Muir, 
where  have  you  come  from  ?  "  Then  I  told 

lim  the  story  of  my  feeling  his  presence 
hen  he  entered  the  valley  last  evening, 
when  he  was  four  or  five  miles  distant,  as 
sat  sketching  on  the  North  Dome.  This, 

>f  course,  only  made  him  wonder  the  more. 
Below  the  foot  of  the  Vernal  Fall  the  guide 
was  waiting  with  his  saddle-horse,  and  I 
[  247  ] 


My  First  Summer 

walked  along  the  trail,  chatting  all  the  way 
back  to  the  hotel,  talking  of  school  days, 
friends  in  Madison,  of  the  students,  how 
each  had  prospered,  etc.,  ever  and  anon 
gazing  at  the  stupendous  rocks  about  us, 
now  growing  indistinct  in  the  gloaming, 
and  again  quoting  from  the  poets,  —  a  rare 
ramble. 

It  was  late  ere  we  reached  the  hotel,  and 
General  Alvord  was  waiting  the  Professor's 
arrival  for  dinner.  When  I  was  introduced 
he  seemed  yet  more  astonished  than  the 
Professor  at  my  descent  from  cloudland  and 
going  straight  to  my  friend  without  know- 
ing in  any  ordinary  way  that  he  was  even 
in  California.  They  had  come  on  direct 
from  the  East,  had  not  yet  visited  any  of 
their  friends  in  the  state,  and  considered 
themselves  undiscoverable.  As  we  sat  at 
dinner,  the  General  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  looking  down  the  table,  thus 
introduced  me  to  the  dozen  guests  or  so, 
including  the  staring  fisherman  mentioned 
[  248.  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

ibove :  "  This  man,  you  know,  came  down 
out  of  these  huge,  trackless  mountains,  you 
know,  to  find  his  friend  Professor   Butler 
here,  the  very  day  he  arrived  ;  and  how  did 
ie  know  he  was  here  ?   He  just  felt  him,  he 
lys.  This  is  the  queerest  case  of  Scotch  far- 
sightedness I  ever  heard  of/'  etc.,  etc.  While 
my    friend    quoted    Shakespeare  :    "  More 
"hings  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio,  than 
ire  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy/'  "As  the 
>un,  ere  he  has  risen,  sometimes  paints  his 
image  in  the  firmament,  e'en  so  the  shadows 
>f  events  precede  the  events,  and  in  to-day 
ilready  walks  to-morrow." 

Had  a  long  conversation,  after  dinner, 
over  Madison  days.  The  Professor  wants 
me  to  promise  to  go  with  him,  sometime, 
on  a  camping  trip  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands, 
while  I  tried  to  get  him  to  go  back  with 
me  to  camp  in  the  high  Sierra.  But  he 
jays,  "  Not  now."  He  must  not  leave  the 
General ;  and  I  was  surprised  to  learn  they 
are  to  leave  the  valley  to-morrow  or  next 
[  249  ] 


My  First  Summer 

day.  I  'm  glad  I  'm  not  great  enough  to  be 
missed  in  the  busy  world. 

August  4.  —  It  seemed  strange  to  sleep 
in  a  paltry  hotel  chamber  after  the  spacious 
magnificence  and  luxury  of  the  starry  sky 
and  silver  fir  grove.  Bade  farewell  to  my 
friend  and  the  General.  The  old  soldier 
was  very  kind,  and  an  interesting  talker. 
He  told  me  long  stories  of  the  Florida 
Seminole  war,  in  which  he  took  part,  and 
invited  me  to  visit  him  in  Omaha.  Calling 
Carlo,  I  scrambled  home  through  the  In- 
dian Canon  gate,  rejoicing,  pitying  the  poor 
Professor  and  General,  bound  by  clocks, 
almanacs,  orders,  duties,  etc.,  and  compelled 
to  dwell  with  lowland  care  and  dust  and 
din,  where  Nature  is  covered  and  her  voice 
smothered,  while  the  poor,  insignificant 
wanderer  enjoys  the  freedom  and  glory  of 
God's  wilderness. 

Apart  from  the  human  interest  of  my 
visit  to-day,  I  greatly  enjoyed  Yosemite, 
which  I  had  visited  only  once  before, 

[250] 


In  the  Sierra 

having  spent  eight  days  last  spring  in  ram- 
bling amid  its  rocks  and  waters.  Wherever 
we  go  in  the  mountains,  or  indeed  in  any 
of  God's  wild  fields,  we  find  more  than  we 
seek.  Descending  four  thousand  feet  in  a 
few  hours,  we  enter  a  new  world,  —  cli- 
mate, plants,  sounds,  inhabitants,  and  scenery 
all  new  or  changed.  Near  camp  the  gold- 
cup  oak  forms  sheets  of  chaparral,  on  top 
of  which  we  may  make  our  beds.  Going 
down  the  Indian  Canon  we  observe  this  lit- 
tle bush  changing  by  regular  gradations  to 
a  large  bush,  to  a  small  tree,  and  then  larger, 
until  on  the  rocky  taluses  near  the  bottom 
of  the  valley  we  find  it  developed  into  a 
broad,  wide-spreading,  gnarled,  picturesque 
tree  from  four  to  eight  feet  in  diameter, 
and  forty  or  fifty  feet  high.  Innumerable  are 
the  forms  of  water  displayed.  Every  gliding 
reach,  cascade,  and  fall  has  characters  of 
its  own.  Had  a  good  view  of  the  Vernal 
and  Nevada,  two  of  the  main  falls  of  the 
valley,  less  than  a  mile  apart,  and  offering 
[  251  ] 


My  First  Summer 

striking  differences  in  voice,  form,  color, 
etc.  The  Vernal,  four  hundred  feet  high 
and  about  seventy-five  or  eighty  feet  wide, 
drops  smoothly  over  a  round-lipped  preci- 
pice and  forms  a  superb  apron  of  em- 
broidery, green  and  white,  slightly  folded 
and  fluted,  maintaining  this  form  nearly  to 
the  bottom,  where  it  is  suddenly  veiled  in 
quick-flying  billows  of  spray  and  mist,  in 
which  the  afternoon  sunbeams  play  with 
ravishing  beauty  of  rainbow  colors.  The 
Nevada  is  white  from  its  first  appearance 
as  it  leaps  out  into  the  freedom  of  the  air. 
At  the  head  it  presents  a  twisted  appear- 
ance, by  an  overfolding  of  the  current  from 
striking  on  the  side  of  its  channel  just  be- 
fore the  first  free  outbounding  leap  is  made. 
About  two  thirds  of  the  way  down,  the 
hurrying  throng  of  comet-shaped  masses 
glance  on  an  inclined  part  of  the  face  of 
the  precipice  and  are  beaten  into  yet  whiter 
foam,  greatly  expanded,  and  sent  bounding 
outward,  making  an  indescribably  glorious 
[252  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

show,  especially  when  the  afternoon  sun- 
;hine  is  pouring  into  it.  In  this  fall  — 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  in  the  world 
-  the  water  does  not  seem  to  be  under 
the  dominion  of  ordinary  laws,  but  rather 
as  if  it  were  a  living  creature,  full  of  the 
strength  of  the  mountains  and  their  huge, 
wild  joy. 

From  beneath  heavy  throbbing  blasts  of 
spray  the  broken  river  is  seen  emerging 
in  ragged  boulder-chafed  strips.  These  are 
speedily  gathered  into  a  roaring  torrent, 
showing  that  the  young  river  is  still  glo- 
riously alive.  On  it  goes,  shouting,  roar- 
ing, exulting  in  its  strength,  passes  through 
a  gorge  with  sublime  display  of  energy, 
then  suddenly  expands  on  a  gently  inclined 
pavement,  down  which  it  rushes  in  thin 
sheets  and  folds  of  lace-work  into  a  quiet 
pool,  —  "Emerald  Pool,"  as  it  is  called,- 
a  stopping-place,  a  period  separating  two 
grand  sentences.  Resting  here  long  enough 
to  part  with  its  foam-bells  and  gray  mix- 
[  253  ] 


My  First  Summer 

tures  of  air,  it  glides  quietly  to  the  verge 
of  the  Vernal  precipice  in  a  broad  sheet 
and  makes  its  new  display  in  the  Vernal 
Fall ;  then  more  rapids  and  rock  tossings 
down  the  canon,  shaded  by  live  oak,  Doug- 
las spruce,  fir,  maple,  and  dogwood.  It  re- 
ceives the  Illilouette  tributary,  and  makes 
a  long  sweep  out  into  the  level,  sun-filled 
valley  to  join  the  other  streams  which, 
like  itself,  have  danced  and  sung  their  way 
down  from  snowy  heights  to  form  the 
main  Merced,  —  the  river  of  Mercy.  But 
of  this  there  is  no  end,  and  life,  when  one 
thinks  of  it,  is  so  short.  Never  mind,  one 
day  in  the  midst  of  these  divine  glories  is 
well  worth  living  and  toiling  and  starving 
for. 

Before  parting  with  Professor  Butler  he 
gave  me  a  book,  and  I  gave  him  one  of 
my  pencil  sketches  for  his  little  son  Henry, 
who  is  a  favorite  of  mine.  He  used  to  make 
many  visits  to  my  room  when  I  was  a 
student.  Never  shall  I  forget  his  patriotic 
[  254  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

speeches  for  the  Union,  mounted  on  a  tall 

tool,  when  he  was  only  six  years  old. 

It  seems  strange  that  visitors  to  Yosemite 
should  be  so  little  influenced  by  its  novel 

;randeur,  as  if  their  eyes  were  bandaged 
ind  their  ears  stopped.  Most  of  those  I  saw 
yesterday  were  looking  down  as  if  wholly 
unconscious  of  anything  going  on  about 
them,  while  the  sublime  rocks  were  trem- 
bling with  the  tones  of  the  mighty  chanting 
congregation  of  waters  gathered  from  all 
the  mountains  round  about,  making  music 
that  might  draw  angels  out  of  heaven. 

ret  respectable-looking,  even  wise-looking 
people  were  fixing  bits  of  worms  on  bent 
pieces  of  wire  to  catch  trout.  Sport  they 

illed  it.  Should  church-goers  try  to  pass 
:he  time  fishing  in  baptismal  fonts  while 
dull  sermons  were  being  preached,  the 

>-called  sport  might  not  be  so  bad  ;  but 
to  play  in  the  Yosemite  temple,  seek- 
ing pleasure  in  the  pain  of  fishes  strug- 
gling for  their  lives,  while  God  himself  is 
[  255  ] 


My  First  Summer 

preaching   his  sublimest   water   and   stone 
sermons  ! 

Now  I  'm  back  at  the  camp-fire,  and  can- 
not help  thinking  about  my  recognition  of 
my  friend's  presence  in  the  valley  while  he 
was  four  or  five  miles  away,  and  while  I 
had  no  means  of  knowing  that  he  was  not 
thousands  of  miles  away.  It  seems  super- 
natural, but  only  because  it  is  not  under- 
stood. Anyhow,  it  seems  silly  to  make  so 
much  of  it,  while  the  natural  and  com- 
mon is  more  truly  marvelous  and  myste- 
rious than  the  so-called  supernatural.  In- 
deed most  of  the  miracles  we  hear  of  are 
infinitely  less  wonderful  than  the  com- 
monest of  natural  phenomena,  when  fairly 
seen.  Perhaps  the  invisible  rays  that  struck 
me  while  I  sat  at  work  on  the  Dome  are 
something  like  those  which  attract  and  re- 
pel people  at  first  sight,  concerning  which 
so  much  nonsense  has  been  written.  The 
worst  apparent  effect  of  these  mysterious 
odd  things  is  blindness  to  all  that  is  divinely 
[  256] 


In  the  Sierra 

common.  Hawthorne,  I  fancy,  could  weave 
one  of  his  weird  romances  out  of  this  little 
telepathic  episode,  the  one  strange  marvel 
of  my  life,  probably  replacing  my  good 
old  Professor  by  an  attractive  woman. 

August  5. --We  were  awakened  this 
morning  before  daybreak  by  the  furious 
barking  of  Carlo  and  Jack  and  the  sound 
of  stampeding  sheep.  Billy  fled  from  his 
punk  bed  to  the  fire,  and  refused  to  stir 
into  the  darkness  to  try  to  gather  the  scat- 
tered flock,  or  ascertain  the  nature  of  the 
disturbance.  It  was  a  bear  attack,  as  we 
afterward  learned,  and  I  suppose  little  was 
gained  by  attempting  to  do  anything  be- 
fore daylight.  Nevertheless,  being  anxious 
to  know  what  was  up,  Carlo  and  I  groped 
our  way  through  the  woods,  guided  by  the 
rustling  sound  made  by  fragments  of  the 
flock,  not  fearing  the  bear,  for  I  knew  that 
the  runaways  would  go  from  their  enemy 
as  far  as  possible  and  Carlo's  nose  was  also 
to  be  depended  upon.  About  half  a  mile 
[  257  ] 


My  First  Summer 

east  of  the  corral  we  overtook  twenty  or 
thirty  of  the  flock  and  succeeded  in  driving 
them  back  ;  then  turning  to  the  westward, 
we  traced  another  band  of  fugitives  and 
got  them  back  to  the  flock.  After  day- 
break I  discovered  the  remains  of  a  sheep 
carcass,  still  warm,  showing  that  Bruin 
must  have  been  enjoying  his  early  mut- 
ton breakfast  while  I  was  seeking  the  run- 
aways. He  had  eaten  about  half  of  it.  Six 
dead  sheep  lay  in  the  corral,  evidently 
smothered  by  the  crowding  and  piling  up 
of  the  flock  against  the  side  of  the  corral 
wall  when  the  bear  entered.  Making  a 
wide  circuit  of  the  camp,  Carlo  and  I  dis- 
covered a  third  band  of  fugitives  and  drove 
them  back  to  camp.  We  also  discovered 
another  dead  sheep  half  eaten,  showing 
there  had  been  two  of  the  shaggy  free- 
booters at  this  early  breakfast.  They  were 
easily  traced.  They  had  each  caught  a 
sheep,  jumped  over  the  corral  fence  with 
them,  carrying  them  as  a  cat  carries  a  mouse, 
[258  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

laid  them  at  the  foot  of  fir  trees  a  hun- 
dred yards  or  so  back  from  the  corral,  and 
eaten  their  fill.  After  breakfast  I  set  out 
to  seek  more  of  the  lost,  and  found  seventy- 
five  at  a  considerable  distance  from  camp. 
In  the  afternoon  I  succeeded,  with  Carlo's 
help,  in  getting  them  back  to  the  flock. 
I  don't  know  whether  all  are  together 
again  or  not.  I  shall  make  a  big  fire  this 
evening  and  keep  watch. 

When  I  asked  Billy  why  he  made  his 
bed  against  the  corral  in  rotten  wood, 
when  so  many  better  places  offered,  he 
replied  that  he  "  wished  to  be  as  near  the 
sheep  as  possible  in  case  bears  should  at- 
tack them."  Now  that  the  bears  have 
come,  he  has  moved  his  bed  to  the  far 
side  of  the  camp,  and  seems  afraid  that  he 
may  be  mistaken  for  a  sheep. 

This  has  been  mostly  a  sheep  day,  and 

of   course   studies    have    been    interrupted. 

Nevertheless,  the  walk  through  the  gloom 

of  the  woods  before  the  dawn  was  worth 

[259] 


My  First  Summer 

while,  and  I  have  learned  something  about 
these  noble  bears.  Their  tracks  are  very 
telling,  and  so  are  their  breakfasts.  Scarce 
a  trace  of  clouds  to-day,  and  of  course  our 
ordinary  mid-day  thunder  is  wanting. 

August  6.  —  Enjoyed  the  grand  illumi- 
nation of  the  camp  grove,  last  night,  from 
the  fire  we  made  to  frighten  the  bears, - 
compensation  for  loss  of  sleep  and  sheep. 
The  noble  pillars  of  verdure,  vividly  aglow, 
seemed  to  shoot  into  the  sky  like  the  flames 
that  lighted  them.  Nevertheless,  one  of  the 
bears  paid  us  another  visit,  as  if  more  at- 
tracted than  repelled  by  the  fire,  climbed 
into  the  corral,  killed  a  sheep  and  made 
off  with  it  without  being  seen,  while  still 
another  was  lost  by  trampling  and  suffo- 
cation against  the  side  of  the  corral.  Now 
that  our  mutton  has  been  tasted,  I  sup- 
pose it  will  be  difficult  to  put  a  stop  to 
the  ravages  of  these  freebooters. 

The  Don  arrived  to-day  from  the  low- 
lands with  provisions  and  a  letter.  On  learn- 
[260] 


In  the  Sierra 

ing  the  losses  he  had  sustained,  he  deter- 
mined to  move  the  flock  at  once  to  the 
upper  Tuolumne  region,  saying  that  the 
bears  would  be  sure  to  visit  the  camp  every 
night  as  long  as  we  stayed,  and  that  no 
fire  or  noise  we  might  make  would  avail 
to  frighten  them.  No  clouds  save  a  few 
thin,  lustrous  touches  on  the  eastern  hori- 
zon. Thunder  heard  in  the  distance. 

August'  7.  -  -  Early  this  morning  bade 
good-by  to  the  bears  and  blessed  silver  fir 
camp,  and  moved  slowly  eastward  along 
the  Mono  Trail.  At  sundown  camped  for 
the  night  on  one  of  the  many  small  flowery 
meadows  so  greatly  enjoyed  on  my  excur- 
sion to  LakeTenaya.  The  dusty,  noisy  flock 
:ms  outrageously  foreign  and  out  of  place 
in  these  nature  gardens,  more  so  than  bears 
among  sheep.  The  harm  they  do  goes  to 
the  heart,  but  glorious  hope  lifts  above  all 
:he  dust  and  din  and  bids  me  look  for- 
rard  to  a  good  time  coming,  when  money 
enough  will  be  earned  to  enable  me  to  go 
[261  ] 


My  First  Summer 

walking  where  I  like  in  pure  wildness, 
with  what  I  can  carry  on  my  back,  and 
when  the  bread-sack  is  empty,  run  down 
to  the  nearest  point  on  the  bread-line  for 
more.  Nor  will  these  run-downs  be  blanks, 
for,  whether  up  or  down,  every  step  and 
jump  on  these  blessed  mountains  is  full  of 
fine  lessons. 

August  8. --Camp  at  the  west  end  of 
Lake  Tenaya.  Arriving  early,  I  took  a  walk 
on  the  glacier-polished  pavements  along  the 
north  shore,  and  climbed  the  magnificent 
mountain  rock  at  the  east  end  of  the  lake, 
now  shining  in  the  late  afternoon  light. 
Almost  every  yard  of  Us  surface  shows  the 
scoring  and  polishing  action  of  a  great 
glacier  that  enveloped  it  and  swept  heavily 
over  its  summit,  though  it  is  about  two 
thousand  feet  high  above  the  lake  and  ten 
thousand  above  sea-level.  This  majestic, 
ancient  ice-flood  came  from  the  eastward, 
as  the  scoring  and  crushing  of  the  surface 
shows.  Even  below  the  waters  of  the  lake 
[  262  ] 


In  the  Sierra 


the  rock  in  some  places  is  still  grooved 
nd  polished  ;  the  lapping  of  the  waves 
nd  their  disintegrating  action  have  not  as 
et  obliterated  even  the  superficial  marks 
f  glaciation.  In  climbing  the  steepest  pol- 
hed  places  I  had  to  take  off  shoes  and 


^ 


VIEW    OF    TENAYA    LAKE    SHOWING    CATHEDRAL    PEAK 

Lockings.  A  fine  region  this  for  study  of 
facial  action  in  mountain-making.  I  found 
lany  charming  plants :  arctic  daisies,  phlox, 
'hite  spiraea,  bryanthus,  and  rock-ferns,  — 
>ella2a,  cheilanthes,  allosorus,  —  fringing 
gathered  seams  all  the  way  up  to  the 
[  263  ] 


My  First  Summer 

summit ;  and  sturdy  junipers,  grand  old 
gray  and  brown  monuments,  stood  bravely 
erect  on  fissured  spots  here  and  there,  tell- 
ing storm  and  avalanche  stories  of  hun- 
dreds of  winters.  The  view  of  the  lake 
from  the  top  is,  I  think,  the  best  of  all. 
There  is  another  rock,  more  striking  in 
form  than  this,  standing  isolated  at  the  head 
of  the  lake,  but  it  is  not  more  than  half 
as  high.  It  is  a  knob  or  knot  of  burnished 
granite,  perhaps  about  a  thousand  feet  high, 
apparently  as  flawless  and  strong  in  struc- 
ture as  a  wave-worn  pebble,  and  probably 
owes  its  existence  to  the  superior  resistance 
it  offered  to  the  action  of  the  overflowing 
ice-flood. 

Made  sketch  of  the  lake,  and  sauntered 
back  to  camp,  my  iron-shod  shoes  clank- 
ing on  the  pavements  disturbing  the  chip- 
munks and  birds.  After  dark  went  out  to 
the  shore,  —  not  a  breath  of  air  astir,  the 
lake  a  perfect  mirror  reflecting  the  sky 
and  mountains  with  their  stars  and  trees  and 
[  264  ] 


In  the  Sierra 


wonderful  sculpture,  all  their  grandeur  re- 
fined and  doubled, --a  marvelously  im- 
ressive  picture,  that  seemed  to  belong  more 
o  heaven  than  earth. 
August  9.  —  I  went  ahead  of  the  flock, 
d  crossed  over  the  divide  between  the 


NE  OF  THE  TRIBUTARY  FOUNTAINS  OF  THE  TUOLUMNE 

CANON  WATERS,  ON  THE   NORTH  SIDE  OF  THE 

HOFFMAN  RANGE 


Merced  and  Tuolumne  basins.  The  gap  be- 
tween the  east  end  of  the  Hoffman  spur  and 
the  mass  of  mountain  rocks  about  Cathe- 
dral Peak,  though  roughened  by  ridges  and 
waving  folds,  seems  to  be  one  of  the  chan- 
[  265  ] 


My  First  Summer 

nels  of  a  broad  ancient  glacier  that  came 
from  the  mountains  on  the  summit  of 
the  range.  In  crossing  this  divide  the  ice- 
river  made  an  ascent  of  about  five  hundred 
feet  from  the  Tuolumne  meadows.  This 
entire  region  must  have  been  overswept 
by  ice. 

From  the  top  of  the  divide,  and  also 
from  the  big  Tuolumne  Meadows,  the 
wonderful  mountain  called  Cathedral  Peak 
is  in  sight.  From  every  point  of  view  it 
shows  marked  individuality.  It  is  a  majes- 
tic temple  of  one  stone,  hewn  from  the 
living  rock,  and  adorned  with  spires  and 
pinnacles  in  regular  cathedral  style.  The 
dwarf  pines  on  the  roof  look  like  mosses. 
I  hope  some  time  to  climb  to  it  to  say  my 
prayers  and  hear  the  stone  sermons. 

The  big  Tuolumne  Meadows  are  flowery 
lawns,  lying  along  the  south  fork  of  the 
Tuolumne  River  at  a  height  of  about  eighty- 
five  hundred  to  nine  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  partially  separated  by  forests  and 
[  266] 


Tuolumm  Meadoiv  from  Cathedral  Peak 


In  the  Sierra 

bars  of  glaciated  granite.   Here  the  moun- 
tains seem   to   have  been  cleared  away  or 
>et  back,  so  that  wide-open  views  may  be 
tad  in  every  direction.  The  upper  end  of 
:he  series  lies  at  the  base  of  Mt.  Lyell,  the 
lower  below  the  east  end  of  the  Hoffman 
Range,  so  the  length  must  be  about  ten  or 
twelve  miles.  They  vary  in  width  from  a 
[uarter  of  a  mile  to  perhaps  three  quarters, 
ind  a  good  many  branch  meadows  put  out 
ilong  the  banks  of  the  tributary  streams, 
'his   is  the    most  spacious  and  delightful 
iigh  pleasure-ground  I  have  yet  seen.   The 
tir  is  keen  and  bracing,  yet  warm  during 
:he  day  ;  and  though  lying  high  in  the  sky, 
:he   surrounding    mountains   are  so  much 
dgher,  one  feels  protected  as  if  in  a  grand 
tall.    Mts.  Dana   and  Gibbs,    massive   red 
mountains,  perhaps  thirteen  thousand  feet 
iigh  or  more,  bound  the  view  on  the  east, 
:he  Cathedral  and  Unicorn  Peaks,  with  many 
lameless  peaks,  on  the  south,  the  Hoffman 
Range  on  the  west,  and  a  number  of  peaks 
[  267] 


My  First  Summer 

unnamed,  as  far  as  I  know,  on  the  north. 
One  of  these  last  is  much  like  the  Cathe- 
dral. The  grass  of  the  meadows  is  mostly 
fine  and  silky,  with  exceedingly  slender 
leaves,  making  a  close  sod,  above  which 
the  panicles  of  minute  purple  flowers  seem 
to  float  in  airy,  misty  lightness,  while  the 
sod  is  enriched  with  at  least  three  species 
of  gentian  and  as  many  or  more  of  ortho- 
carpus,  potentilla,  ivesia,  solidago,  pent- 
stemon,  with  their  gay  colors,  —  purple, 
blue,  yellow,  and  red,  —  all  of  which  I 
may  know  better  ere  long.  A  central  camp 
will  probably  be  made  in  this  region,  from 
which  I  hope  to  make  long  excursions  into 
the  surrounding  mountains. 

On  the  return  trip  I  m.et  the  flock  about 
three  miles  east  of  Lake  Tenaya.  Here  we 
camped  for  the  night  near  a  small  lake  lying 
on  top  of  the  divide  in  a  clump  of  the  two- 
leaved  pine.  We  are  now  about  nine  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea.  Small  lakes  abound  in  all 
sorts  of  situations,  —  on  ridges,  along  moun- 
[  268] 


In  the  Sierra 

tain  sides,  and  in  piles  of  moraine  boulders, 
most  of  them  mere  pools.  Only  in  those 
canons  of  the  larger  streams  at  the  foot  of 
declivities,  where  the  down  thrust  of  the 
glaciers  was  heaviest,  do  we  find  lakes  of  con- 
liderable  size  and  depth.  How  grateful  a 
task  it  would  be  to  trace  them  all  and  study 
:hem !  How  pure  their  waters  are,  clear  as 
crystal  in  polished  stone  basins !  None  of 
them,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  have  fishes,  I  sup- 
pose on  account  of  falls  making  them  inac- 
:essible.  Yet  one  would  think  their  eggs 
might  get  into  these  lakes  by  some  chance  or 
other ;  on  ducks*  feet,  for  example,  or  in  their 
mouths,  or  in  their  crops,  as  some  plant  seeds 
are  distributed.  Nature  has  so  many  ways  of 
doing  such  things.  How  did  the  frogs,  found 
in  all  the  bogs  and  pools  and  lakes,  however 
high,  manage  to  get  up  these  mountains? 
Surely  not  by  jumping.  Such  excursions 
through  miles  of  dry  brush  and  boulders 
would  be  very  hard  on  frogs.  Perhaps  their 
stringy  gelatinous  spawn  is  occasionally  en- 
[  269] 


My  First  Summer 

tangled  or  glued  on  the  feet  of  water  birds. 
Anyhow,  they  are  here  and  in  hearty  health 
and  voice.   I  like  their  cheery  tronk  and 
crink.  They  take  the  place  of  song-birds  at  ' 
a  pinch. 

August  i  o.  —  Another  of  those  charming 
exhilarating  days  that  makes  the  blood  dance 
and  excites  nerve  currents  that  render  one 
unweariable  and  well-nigh  immortal.  Had 
another  view  of  the  broad  ice-ploughed 
divide,  and  gazed  again  and  again  at  the 
Sierra  temple  and  the  great  red  mountains 
east  of  the  meadows. 

We  are  camped  near  the  Soda  Springs  on 
the  north  side  of  the  river.  A  hard  time  we 
had  getting  the  sheep  across.  They  were 
driven  into  a  horseshoe  bend  and  fairly 
crowded  off  the  bank.  They  seemed  willing 
to  suffer  death  rather  than  risk  getting  wet, 
though  they  swim  well  enough  when  they 
have  to.  Why  sheep  should  be  so  unreason- 
ably afraid  of  water,  I  don't  know,  but  they 
do  fear  it  as  soon  as  they  are  born  and  per- 
[  270] 


In  the  Sierra 

haps  before.  I  once  saw  a  lamb  only  a  few 
hours  old  approach  a  shallow  stream  about 
two  feet  wide  and  an  inch  deep,  after  it  had 
walked  only  about  a  hundred  yards  on  its  life 
journey.  All  the  flock  to  which  it  belonged 

lad  crossed  this  inch-deep  stream,  and  as  the 
mother  and  her  lamb  were  the  last  to  cross, 
I  had  a  good  opportunity  to  observe  them. 
As  soon  as  the  flock  was  out  of  the  way,  the 

inxious  mother  crossed  over  and  called  the 

roungster.  It  walked  cautiously  to  the  brink, 

;azed  at  the  water,  bleated  piteously,  and 
•efused  to  venture.  The  patient  mother  went 
back  to  it  again  and  again  to  encourage  it,  but 
long  without  avail.  Like  the  pilgrim  on  Jor- 

lan's  stormy  bank  it  feared  to  launch  away. 

.t  length  gathering  its  trembling  inexpe- 
•ienced  legs  for  the  mighty  effort,  throwing 

ip  its  head  as  if  it  knew  all  about  drowning, 
and  was  anxious  to  keep  its  nose  above  water, 
it  made  the  tremendous  leap,  and  landed 
in  the  middle  of  the  inch-deep  stream.  It 

jemed  astonished  to  find  that,  instead  of 
[  271  ] 


My  First  Summer 

sinking  over  head  and  ears,  only  its  toes  were 
wet,  gazed  at  the  shining  water  a  few  sec- 
onds, and  then  sprang  to  the  shore  safe  and 
dry  through  the  dreadful  adventure.  All 
kinds  of  wild  sheep  are  mountain  animals, 
and  their  descendants'  dread  of  water  is  not 
easily  accounted  for. 

August  ii.  —  Fine  shining  weather,  with 
a  ten  minutes'  noon  thunder-storm  and  rain. 
Rambling  all  day  getting  acquainted  with 
the  region  north  of  the  river.  Found  a  smal  1 
lake  and  many  charming  glacier  meadows 
embosomed  in  an  extensive  forest  of  the  two- 
leaved  pine.  The  forest  is  growing  on  broad, 
almost  continuous  deposits  of  moraine  mate- 
rial, is  remarkably  even  in  its  growth,  and 
the  trees  are  much  closer  together  than  in 
any  of  the  fir  or  pine  woods  farther  down  the 
range.  The  evenness  of  the  growth  would 
seem  to  indicate  that  the  trees  are  all  of  the 
same  age  or  nearly  so.  This  regularity  has 
probably  been  in  great  part  the  result  of  fire. 
I  saw  several  large  patches  and  strips  of  dead 
[  272  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

bleached  spars,  the  ground  beneath  them 
covered  with  a  young  even  growth.  Fire  can 

*un  in  these  woods,  not  only  because  the 
thin  bark  of  the  trees  is  dripping  with  resin, 
but  because  the  growth  is  close,  and  the 
comparatively  rich  soil  produces  good  crops 
of  tall  broad-leaved  grasses  on  which  fire 
can  travel,  even  when  the  weather  is  calm. 
Besides  these  fire-killed  patches  there  are  a 
good  many  fallen  uprooted  trees  here  and 
there,  some  with  the  bark  and  needles  still 
on,  as  if  they  had  lately  been  blown  down  in 
some  thunder-storm  blast.  Saw  a  large  black- 
tailed  deer,  a  buck  with  antlers  like  the  up- 
turned roots  of  a  fallen  pine. 

After  a  long  ramble  through  the  dense 
encumbered  woods  I  emerged  upon  a  smooth 
meadow  full  of  sunshine  like  a  lake  of  light, 

ibout  a  mile  and  a  half  long,  a  quarter  to 
half  a  mile  wide,  and  bounded  by  tall  arrowy 
pines.  The  sod,  like  that  of  all  the  glacier 
meadows  hereabouts,  is  made  of  silky  agros- 
tis  and  calamagrostis  chiefly;  their  panicles 
[  273  ] 


My  First  Summer 

of  purple  flowers  and  purple  stems,  exceed- 
ingly light  and  airy,  seem  to  float  above  the 
green  plush  of  leaves  like  a  thin  misty  cloud, 
while  the  sod  is  brightened  by  several  species 
of  gentian,  potentilla,  ivesia,  orthogarpus, 


GLACIER    MEADOW,  ON    THE    HEADWATERS  OF  THE  TUO- 
LUMNE,  9500  FEET  ABOVE  THE  SEA 

and  their  corresponding  bees  and  butterflies. 
All  the  glacier  meadows  are  beautiful,  but 
few  are  so  perfect  as  this  one.  Compared 
with  it  the  most  carefully  leveled,  licked, 
snipped  artificial  lawns  of  pleasure-grounds 
are  coarse  things.  I  should  like  to  live  here 
[  274  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

always.  It  is  so  calm  and  withdrawn  while 
open  to  the  universe  in  full  communion  with 
everything  good.  To  the  north  of  this  glori- 
ous meadow  I  discovered  the  camp  of  some 
Indian  hunters.  Their  fire  was  still  burn- 
ing, but  they  had  not  yet  returned  from  the 
chase. 

From  meadow  to  meadow,  every  one 
beautiful  beyond  telling,  and  from  lake  to 
lake  through  groves  and  belts  of  arrowy  trees, 
I  held  my  way  northward  toward  Mt.  Con- 
ness,  finding  telling  beauty  everywhere, 
while  the  encompassing  mountains  were 
calling  "  Come."  Hope  I  may  climb  them 
all. 

August  1 2 . — The  sky-scenery  has  changed 
but  little  so  far  with  the  change  in  elevation. 
Clouds  about  .05.  Glorious  pearly  cumuli 
tinted  with  purple  of  ineffable  fineness  of 
tone.  Moved  camp  to  the  side  of  the  glacier 
meadow  mentioned  above.  To  let  sheep 
trample  so  divinely  fine  a  place  seems  bar- 
barous. Fortunately  they  prefer  the  succu- 
[  275  ] 


My  First  Summer  ' 

lent  broad-leaved  triticum  and  other  wood- 
land grasses  to  the  silky  species  of  the 
meadows,  and  therefore  seldom  bite  them 
or  set  foot  on  them. 

The  shepherd  and  the  Don  cannot  agree 
about  methods  of  herding.  Billy  sets  his 
dog  Jack  on  the  sheep  far  too  often,  so  the 
Don  thinks ;  and  after  some  dispute  to- 
day, in  which  the  shepherd  loudly  claimed 
the  right  to  dog  the  sheep  as  often  as  he 
pleased,  he  started  for  the  plains.  Now  I 
suppose  the  care  of  the  sheep  will  fall  on 
me,  though  Mr.  Delaney  promises  to  do 
the  herding  himself  for  a  while,  then  re- 
turn to  the  lowlands  and  bring  another 
shepherd,  so  as  to  leave  me  free  to  rove  as 
I  like. 

Had  another  rich  ramble.  Pushed  north- 
ward beyond  the  forests  to  the  head  of  the 
general  basin,  where  traces  of  glacial  action 
are  strikingly  clear  and  interesting.  The  re- 
cesses among  the  peaks  look  like  quarries, 
so  raw  and  fresh  are  the  moraine  chips  and 
[  276] 


In  the  Sierra 

Boulders  that  strew  the  ground  in  Nature's 
facial  workshops. 

Soon  after  my  return  to  camp  we  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  an  Indian,  probably  one 
>f  the  hunters  whose  camp  I  had  discov- 
ered. He  came  from  Mono,  he  said,  with 
ithers  of  his  tribe,  to  hunt  deer.  One  that 
ic  had  killed  a  short  distance  from  here 
te  was  carrying  on  his  back,  its  legs  tied 
together  in  an  ornamental  bunch  on  his 
forehead.  Throwing  down  his  burden,  he 

ized  stolidly  for  a  few  minutes  in  silent 
Indian  fashion,  then  cut  off  eight  or  ten 
>ounds  of  venison  for  us,  and  begged  a 
"  lill"  (little)  of  every  thing  he  saw  or  could 
:hink  of,  -  -  flour,  bread,  sugar,  tobacco, 

hiskey,  needles,  etc.  We  gave  a  fair  price 
rbr  the  meat  in  flour  and  sugar  and  added 

few  needles.  A  strangely  dirty  and  irreg- 
ilar  life  these  dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  half- 
tappy  savages  lead  in  this  clean  wilderness, 
—  starvation  and  abundance,  deathlike  calm, 
indolence,  and  admirable,  indefatigable 
[  277  ] 


My  First  Summer 

action  succeeding  each  other  in  stormy 
rhythm  like  winter  and  summer.  Two 
things  they  have  that  civilized  toilers  might 
well  envy  them, — pure  air  and  pure  water. 
These  go  far  to  cover  and  cure  the  gross- 
ness  of  their  lives.  Their  food  is  mostly 
good  berries,  pine  nuts,  clover,  lily  bulbs, 
wild  sheep,  antelope,  deer,  grouse,  sage  hens, 
and  the  larvae  of  ants,  wasps,  bees,  and  other 
insects. 

August  13.  —  Day  all  sunshine,  dawn  and 
evening  purple,  noon  gold,  no  clouds,  air 
motionless.  Mr.  Delaney  arrived  with  two 
shepherds,  one  of  them  an  Indian.  On  his 
way  up  from  the  plains  he  left  some  provi- 
sions at  the  Portuguese  camp  on  Porcupine 
Creek  near  our  old  Yosemite  camp,  and  I  set 
out  this  morning  with  one  of  the  pack  ani- 
mals to  fetch  them.  Arrived  at  the  Porcu- 
pine camp  at  noon,  and  might  have  returned 
to  the  Tuolumne  late  in  the  evening,  but 
concluded  to  stay  over  night  with  the  Por- 
tuguese shepherds  at  their  pressing  invita- 
[  278  ] 


Ulg 

~, 

*/^ 


In  the  Sierra 

tion.  They  had  sad  stories  to  tell  of  losses 
from  the  Yosemite  bears,  and  were  so  dis- 
couraged they  seemed  on  the  point  of  leav- 
ing the  mountains ;  for  the  bears  came  every 
night  and  helped  themselves  to  one  or  sev- 

1  of  the  flock  in  spite  of  all  their  efforts 
to  keep  them  off. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  in  a  grand  ramble 
along  the  Yosemite  walls.  From  the  highest 
of  the  rocks  called  the  Three  Brothers,  I  en- 
joyed a  magnificent  view  comprehending  all 
the  upper  half  of  the  floor  of  the  valley  and 
nearly  all  the  rocks  of  the  walls  on  both 
sides  and  at  the  head,  with  snowy  peaks  in 
the  background.  Saw  also  the  Vernal  and 
Nevada  Falls,  a  truly  glorious  picture, — 
rocky  strength  and  permanence  combined 
with  beauty  of  plants  frail  and  fine  and 
evanescent ;  water  descending  in  thunder, 
and  the  same  water  gliding  through  mead- 
ows and  groves  in  gentlest  beauty.  This 
standpoint  is  about  eight  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  or  four  thousand  feet  above  the  floor 

[279] 


My  First  Summer 

of  the  valley,  and  every  tree,  though  look- 
ing small  and  feathery,  stands  in  admirabl< 
clearness,  and  the  shadows  they  cast  are 
distinct  in  outline  as  if  seen  at  a  distana 
of  a  few  yards.  They  appeared  even  mor< 
so.  No  words  will  ever  describe  the  ex- 
quisite beauty  and  charm  of  this  mountai; 
park  -  -  Nature's  landscape  garden  at  once 
tenderly  beautiful  and  sublime.  No  wonder 
it  draws  nature-lovers  from  all  over  the 
world. 

Glacial  action  even  on  this  lofty  summit 
is  plainly  displayed.  Not  only  has  all  the 
lovely  valley  now  smiling  in  sunshine  been 
filled  to  the  brim  with  ice,  but  it  has  been 
deeply  overflowed. 

I  visited  our  old  Yosemite  camp-ground 
on  the  head  of  Indian  Creek,  and  found  it 
fairly  patted  and  smoothed  down  with  bear- 
tracks.  The  bears  had  eaten  all  the  shee] 
that  were  smothered  in  the  corral,  and  somi 
of  the  grand  animals  must  have  died,  for  Mr. 
Delaney,  before  leaving  camp,  put  a  larg< 

[   280] 


In  the  Sierra 

luantity  of  poison  in  the  carcasses.  Allsheep- 

icn  carry  strychnine  to  kill  coyotes,  bears, 
ind  panthers,  though  neither  coyotes  nor  pan- 
ders are  at  all  numerous  in  the  upper  moun- 
:ains.  The  little  dog-like  wolves  are  far  more 
Lumerous  in  the  foothill  region  and  on  the 
dains,  where  they  find  a  better  supply  of 
food,  —  saw  only  one  panther-track  above 
;ight  thousand  feet. 

On  my  'return  after  sunset  to  the  Portu- 
gese camp  I  found  the  shepherds  greatly 

:cited  over  the  behavior  of  the  bears  that 
lave  learned  to  like  mutton.  "They  are 
jetting  worse  and  worse,0  they  lamented. 

Tot  willing  to  wait  decently  until  after  dark 
for  their  suppers,  they  come  and  kill  and 

it  their  fill  in  broad  daylight.  The  evening 
>efore  my  arrival,  when  the  two  shepherds 

rere  leisurely  driving  the  flock  toward 
:amp  half  an  hour  before  sunset,  a  hun- 
gry bear  came  out  of  the  chaparral  within 

few  yards  of  them  and  shuffled  deliber- 
itely  toward  the  flock.   "  Portuguese  Joe," 
[  281   ] 


My  First  Summer 

who  always  carried  a  gun  loaded  with  buck- 
shot, fired  excitedly,  threw  down  his  gun, 
fled  to  the  nearest  suitable  tree,  and  climbed 
to  a  safe  height  without  waiting  to  see  the 
effect  of  his  shot.  His  companion  also  ran, 
but  said  that  he  saw  the  bear  rise  on  its  hind 
legs  and  throw  out  its  arms  as  if  feeling  for 
somebody,  and  then  go  into  the  brush  as  if 
wounded. 

At  another  of  their  camps  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, a  bear  with  two  cubs  attacked  the 
flock  before  sunset,  just  as  they  were  ap- 
proaching the  corral.  Joe  promptly  climbed 
a  tree  out  of  danger,  while  Antone,  rebuking 
his  companion  for  cowardice  in  abandoning 
his  charge,  said  that  he  was  not  going  to 
let  bears  "  eat  up  his  sheeps  "  in  daylight, 
and  rushed  towards  the  bears,  shouting  and 
setting  his  dog  on  them.  The  frightened 
cubs  climbed  a  tree,  but  the  mother  ran  to 
meet  the  shepherd  and  seemed  anxious  to 
fight.  Antone  stood  astonished  for  a  mo- 
ment, eyeing  the  oncoming  bear,  then 
[  282  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

turned  and  fled,   closely  pursued.    Unable 
to  reach  a  suitable  tree  for  climbing,   he 
ran  to  the  camp  and  scrambled  up  to  the 
•oof  of  the  little  cabin  ;  the  bear  followed, 
but  did  not  climb  to  the  roof,  —  only  stood 
glaring  up  at  him  for  a  few  minutes,  threat- 
ening him  and  holding  him  in  mortal  ter- 
•or,  then  went  to  her  cubs,  called  them 
lown,  went  to  the  flock,  caught  a  sheep 
for  supper,  and  vanished  in  the  brush.  As 
>on  as  the  bear  left  the  cabin  the  trem- 
>ling  Antone  begged  Joe  to  show  him   a 
;ood  safe  tree,  up  which  he  climbed  like 
sailor  climbing  a  mast,  and  remained  as 
long  as  he  could   hold  on,  the  tree  being 
Jmost  branchless.   After  these  disastrous  ex- 
periences the  two  shepherds  chopped  and 
gathered  large  piles  of  dry  wood  and  made 
ring  of  fire  around  the  corral  every  night, 
while  one  with  a  gun  kept  watch  from  a 
:omfortable  stage  built  on  a  neighboring 
pine  that  commanded  a  view  of  the  corral. 
This  evening  the  show  made  by  the  circle 
[  283  ] 


My  First  Summer 

of  fire  was  very  fine,  bringing  out  the  sur- 
rounding trees  in  most  impressive  relief, 
and  making  the  thousands  of  sheep  eyes 
glow  like  a  glorious  bed  of  diamonds. 

August  14.  —  Up  to  the  time  I  went  to 
bed  last  night  all  was  quiet,  though  we  ex- 
pected the  shaggy  freebooters  every  minute. 
They  did  not  come  till  near  midnight,  when 
a  pair  walked  boldly  to  the  corral  between 
two  of  the  great  fires,  climbed  in,  killed 
two  sheep  and  smothered  ten,  while  the 
frightened  watcher  in  the  tree  did  not  fire 
a  single  shot,  saying  that  he  was  afraid  he 
might  kill  some  of  the  sheep,  for  the  bears 
got  into  the  corral  before  he  got  a  good 
clear  view  of  them.  I  told  the  shepherds 
they  should  at  once  move  the  flock  to 
another  camp.  "  Oh,  no  use,  no  use,"  they 
lamented  ;  "  where  we  go,  the  bears  go  too. 
See  my  poor  dead  sheeps,  —  soon  all  dead. 
No  use  try  another  camp.  We  go  down  to 
the  plains."  And  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
they  were  driven  out  of  the  mountains  a 
[  284] 


In  the  Sierra 

month  before  the  usual  time.  Were  bears 
much  more  numerous  and  destructive,  the 
sheep  would  be  kept  away  altogether. 

It  seems  strange  that  bears,  so  fond  of  all 
sorts  of  flesh,  running  the  risks  of  guns  and 

Kres  and  poison,  should  never  attack  men 
xcept  in  defense  of  their  young.  How  eas- 
ily and  safely  a  bear  could  pick  us  up  as  we 
lie  asleep !  Only  wolves  and  tigers  seem  to 
have  learned  to  hunt  man  for  food,  and  per- 
iaps  sharks  and  crocodiles.  Mosquitoes  and 
>ther  insects  would,  I  suppose,  devour  a  help- 
less man  in  some  parts  of  the  world,  and  so 
tight  lions,  leopards,  wolves,  hyenas,  and 
>anthers  at  times  if  pressed  by  hunger,  — 
•at  under  ordinary  circumstances,  perhaps, 
oily  the  tiger  among  land  animals  may  be 
lid  to  be  a  man-eater,  —  unless  we  add  man 
dmself. 

Clouds  as  usual  about  .05.  Another  glori- 
>us  Sierra  day,  warm,  crisp,  fragrant,  and 
:lear.    Many  of  the  flowering  plants  have 
jone  to  seed,  but  many  others  are  unfolding 
[  285  ] 


My  First  Summer 

their  petals  every  day,  and  the  firs  and  pines 
are  more  fragrant  than  ever.  Their  seeds  are 
nearly  ripe,  and  will  soon  be  flying  in  the 
merriest  flocks  that  ever  spread  a  wing. 

On  the  way  back  to  our  Tuolumne  camp, 
I  enjoyed  the  scenery  if  possible  more  than 
when  it  first  came  to  view.  Every  feature 
already  seems  familiar  as  if  I  had  lived  here 
always.*  I  never  weary  gazing  jat  the  won- 
derful Cathedral.  It  has  more  individual 
character  than  any  other  rock  or  mountain 
I  ever  saw,  excepting  perhaps  the  Yosemite 
South  Dome.  The  forests,  too,  seem  kindly 
familiar,  and  the  lakes  and  meadows  and 
glad  singing  streams.  I  should  like  to  dwell 
with  them  forever.  Here  with  bread  and 
water  I  should  be  content.  Even  if  not 
allowed  to  roam  and  climb,  tethered  to  a 
stake  or  tree  in  some  meadow  or  grove,  even 
then  I  should  be  content  forever.  Bathed  in 
such  beauty,  watching  the  expressions  ever 
varying  on  the  faces  of  the  mountains,  watch- 
ing the  stars,  which  here  have  a  glory  that 
[286] 


In  the  Sierra 

the  lowlander  never  dreams  of,  watching 
the  circling  seasons,  listening  to  the  songs 
of  the  waters  and  winds  and  birds,  would  be 
endless  pleasure.  And  what  glorious  cloud- 
lands  I  should  see,  storms  and  calms,  —  a  new 

jf 

heaven  and  a  new  earth  every  day',  aye  and 
new  inhabitants.  And  how  many  visitors  I 
should  have.  I  feel  sure  I  should  not  have 
one  dull  moment.  And  why  should  this  ap- 
pear extravagant  ?  It  is  only  common  sense, 
a  sign  of  health,  genuine,  natural,  all-awake 
health.  One  would  be  at  an  endless  God- 
ful  play,  and  what  speeches  and  music  and 
acting  and  scenery  and  lights !  — sun,  moon, 
stars,  auroras.  Creation  just  beginning,  the 
morning  stars  "  still  singing  together  and  all 
the  sons  of  God  shouting  for  joy/' 

August  21. —  Have  just  returned  from  a 
fine  wild  excursion  across  the  range  to  Mono 
Lake,  by  way  of  the  Mono  or  Bloody  Canon 
Pass.  Mr.  Delaney  has  been  good  to  me  all 
summer,  lending  a  helping,  sympathizing 
hand  at  every  opportunity,  as  if  my  wild 
[  287  ] 


My  First  Summer 

notions  and  rambles  and  studies  were  his 
own.  He  is  one  of  those  remarkable  Cali- 
fornia men  who  have  been  overflowed  and 
denuded  and  remodeled  by  the  excitements 
of  the  gold  fields,  like  the  Sierra  landscapes 
by  grinding  ice,  bringing  the  harder  bosses 
and  ridges  of  character  into  relief,  —  a  tall, 
lean,  big-boned,  big-hearted  Irishman,  edu- 
cated for  a  priest  in  Maynooth  College,— 
lots  of  good  in  him,  shining  out  now  and 
then  in  this  mountain  light.  Recognizing 
my  love  of  wild  places,  he  told  me  one  even- 
ing that  I  ought  to  go  through  Bloody 
Canon,  for  he  was  sure  I  should  find  it  wild 
enough.  He  had,  not  been  there  himself, 
he  said,  but  had  heard  many  of  his  mining 
friends  speak  of  it  as  the  wildest  of  all  the 
Sierra  passes.  Of  course  I  was  glad  to  go.  It 
lies  just  to  the  east  of  our  camp  and  swoops 
down  from  the  summit  of  the  range  to  the 
edge  of  the  Mono  desert,  making  a  descent 
x)f  about  four  thousand  feet  in  a  distance  of 
about  four  miles.  It  was  known  and  traveled 
[  288  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

as  a  pass  by  wild  animals  and  the  Indians 
long  before  its  discovery  by  white  men  in 
the  gold  year  of  1858,  as  is  shown  by  old 
trails  which  come  together  at  the  head  of  it. 
The  name  may  have  been  suggested  by  the 
•ed  color  of  the  metamorphic  slates  in  which 
:he  canon  abounds,  or  by  the  blood  stains  on 
ie  rocks  from  the  unfortunate  animals  that 
were  compelled  to  slide  and  shuffle  over  the 
>harp-angled  boulders. 
*  Early  in  the  morning  I  tied  my  note-book 
ind  some  bread  to  my  belt,  and  strode  away 
full  of  eager  hope,  feeling  that  I  was  going 
to  have  a  glorious  revel.*  The  glacier  mead- 
>ws  that  lay  along  my  way  served  to  soothe 
morning  speed,  for  the  sod  was  full  of 
>lue  gentians  and  daisies,  kalmia  and  dwarf 
raccinium,  calling  for  recognition   as  old 
friends,  and  I  had  to  stop  many  times  to 
examine  the  shining  rocks  over  which  the 
indent  glacier  had  passed  with  tremendous 
pressure,  polishing  them  so  well  that  they  re- 
flected the  sunlight  like  glass  in  some  places, 
[  289  ] 


My  First  Summer 

while  fine  striae,  seen  clearly  through  a  lens, 
indicated  the  direction  in  which  the  ice  had 
flowed.  On  some  of  the  sloping  polished 
pavements  abrupt  steps  occur,  showing  that 
occasionally  large  masses  of  the  rock  had 
given  way  before  the  glacial  pressure,  as  well 
as  small  particles  ;  moraines,  too,  some  scat- 
tered, others  regular  like  long  curving  em- 
bankments and  dams,  occur  here  and  there, 
giving  the  general  surface  of  the  region  a 
young,  new-made  appearance.  I  watched  the 
gradual  dwarfing  of  the  pines  as  I  ascended, 
and  the  corresponding  dwarfing  of  nearly  all 
the  rest  of  the  vegetation.  On  the  slopes  of 
Mammoth  Mountain,  to  the  south  of  the 
pass,  I  saw  many  gaps  in  the  woods  reaching 
from  the  upper  edge  of  the  timber-line  down 
to  the  level  meadows,  where  avalanches  of 
snow  had  descended,  sweeping  away  every 
tree  in  their  paths  as  well  as  the  soil  they 
were  growing  in,  leaving  the  bed-rock  bare. 
The  trees  are  nearly  all  uprooted,  but  a  few 
that  had  been  extremely  well  anchored  in 
[  290  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

clefts  of  the  rock  were  broken  off  near  the 
ground.   It  seems  strange  at  first  sight  that 
:rees  that  had  been  allowed  to  grow  for  a 
:entury  or  more  undisturbed  should  in  their 
>ld  age  be  thus  swished  away  at  a  stroke. 
>uch  avalanches  can  only  occur  under  rare 
:onditions   of  weather  and  snowfall.    No 
ioubt  on  some  positions  of  the  mountain 
lopes  the  inclination  and  smoothness  of  the 
surface  is  such  that  avalanches  must  occur 
;very  winter,  or  even  after  every  heavy  snow- 
torm,  and  of  course  no  trees  or  even  bushes 
:an  grow  in  their  channels.   I  noticed  a  few 
clean-swept   slopes  of  this  kind.    The  up- 
rooted trees  that  had  grown  in  the  pathway  of 
what  might  be  called  "  century  avalanches  " 
were  piled  in  windrows,  and  tucked  snugly 
against  the  wall-trees  of  the  gaps,  heads  down- 
ward, excepting  a  few  that  were  carried  out 
into  the  open  ground  of  the  meadows,  where 
the  heads  of  the  avalanches  had  stopped. 
Young  pines,  mostly  the  two-leaved  and  the 
white-barked,  are  already  springing  up  in 
[  291  ] 


My  First  Summer 

these  cleared  gaps.  It  would  be  interesting 
to  ascertain  the  age  of  these  saplings,  for  thus 
we  should  gain  a  fair  approximation  to  the 
year  that  the  great  avalanches  occurred.  Per- 
haps most  or  all  of  them  occurred  the  same 
winter.  How  glad  I  should  be  if  free  to  pur- 
sue such  studies ! 

Near  the  summit  at  the  head  of  the  pass 
I  found  a  species  of  dwarf  willow  lying 
perfectly  flat  on  the  ground,  making  a  nice, 
soft,  silky  gray  carpet,  not  a  single  stem 
or  branch  more  than  three  inches  high ;  but 
the  catkins,  which  are  now  nearly  ripe,  stand 
erect  and  make  a  close,  nearly  regular  gray 
growth,  being  larger  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
plants.  Some  of  these  interesting  dwarfs  have 
only  one  catkin,  —  willow  bushes  reduced 
to  their  lowest  terms.  I  found  patches  of 
dwarf  vaccinium  also  forming  smooth  car- 
pets, closely  pressed  to  the  ground  or  against 
the  sides  of  stones,  and  covered  with  round 
pink  flowers  in  lavish  abundance  as  if  they 
had  fallen  from  the  sky  like  hail.  A  little 
[.  292  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

higher,  almost  at  the  very  head  of  the  pass, 
I  found  the  blue  arctic  daisy  and  purple- 
flowered  bryanthus,  the  mountain's  own 
darlings,  gentle  mountaineers  face  to  face 
with  the  sky,  kept  safe  and  warm  by  a  thou- 
sand miracles,  seeming  always  the  finer  and 
purer  the  wilder  and  stormier  their  homes. 
The  trees,  tough  and  resiny,  seem  unable  to 
go  a  step  farther ;  but  up  and  up,  far  above  the 
tree-line*,  these  tender  plants  climb,  cheerily 
spreading  their  gray  and  pink  carpets  right 
up  to  the  very  edges  of  the  snow-banks  in 
deep  hollows  and  shadows.  Here,  too,  is  the 
familiar  robin,  tripping  on  the  flowery  lawns, 
bravely  singing  the  same  cheery  song  I  first 
heard  when  a  boy  in  Wisconsin  newly  arrived 
from  old  Scotland.  In  this  fine  company 
sauntering  enchanted,  taking  no  heed  of 
time,  I  at  length  entered  the  gate  of  the 
pass,  and  the  huge  rocks  began  to  close 
around  me  in  all  their  mysterious  impres- 
siveness.  Just  then  I  was  startled  by  a  lot 
of  queer,  hairy,  muffled  creatures  coming 
[293  ] 


My  First  Summer 

shuffling,  shambling,  wallowing  toward  me 
as  if  they  had  no  bones  in  their  bodies.  Had 
I  discovered  them  while  they  were  yet  a 
good  way  off,  I  should  have  tried  to  avoid 
them.  What  a  picture  they  made  contrasted 
with  the  others  I  had  just  been  admiring. 
When  I  came  up  to  them,  I  found  that  they 
were  only  a  band  of  Indians  from  Mono  on 
their  way  to  Yosemite  for  a  load  of  acorns. 
They  were  wrapped  in  blankets  made  of 
the  skins  of  sage-rabbits.  The  dirt  on  some 
of  the  faces  seemed  almost  old  enough  and 
thick  enough  to  have  a  geological  signifi- 
cance ;  some  were  strangely  blurred  and  di- 
vided into  sections  by  seams  and  wrinkles 
that  looked  like  cleavage  joints,  and  had  a 
worn  abraded  look  as  if  they  had  lain  ex- 
posed to  the  weather  for  ages.  I  tried  to  pass 
them  without  stopping,  but  they  would  n't 
let  me ;  forming  a  dismal  circle  about  me, 
I  was  closely  besieged  while  they  begged 
whiskey  or  tobacco,  and  it  was  hard  to  con- 
vince them  that  I  had  n't  any.  How  glad  I 
[  294  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

was  to  get  away  from  the  gray,  grim  crowd 
and  see  them  vanish  down  the  trail!  Yet  it 
seems  sad  to  feel  such  desperate  repulsion 
from  one's  fellow  beings,  however  degraded. 
To  prefer  the  society  of  squirrels  and  wood- 
chucks  to  that  of  our  own  species  must  surely 
be  unnatural.  So  with  a  fresh  breeze  and  a 
hill  or  mountain  between  us  I  must  wish 
them  Godspeed  and  try  to  pray  and  sing  with 
Burns,  "  If 's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that,  that  man 
to  man,  the  warld  o'er,  shall  brothers  be  for 

that." 

How  the  day  passed  I  hardly  know.  By 
the  map  I  have  come  only  about  ten  or 
:welve  miles,  though  the  sun  is  already  low 
in  the  west,  showing  how  long  I  must 
lave  lingered,  observing,  sketching,  taking 
lotes  among  the  glaciated  rocks  and  mo- 
raines and  Alpine  flower-beds. 

At  sundown  the  sombre  crags  and  peaks 
were  inspired  with  the  ineffable  beauty  of 
:he  alpenglow,  and  a  solemn,  awful  still- 
ness hushed  everything  in  the  landscape. 
[  295  1 


My  First  Summer 

Then  I  crept  into  a  hollow  by  the  side  of 
a  small  lake  near  the  head  of  the  canon, 
smoothed  a  sheltered  spot,  and  gathered  a 
few  pine  tassels  for  a  bed.  After  the  short 
twilight  began  to  fade  I  kindled  a  sunny 
fire,  made  a  tin  cupful  of  tea,  and  lay  down 
to  watch  the  stars.  Soon  the  night-wind 
began  to  flow  from  the  snowy  peaks  over- 
head, at  first  only  a  gentle  breathing,  then 
gaining  strength,  in  less  than  an  hour  rum- 
bled in  massive  volume  something  like  a 
boisterous  stream  in  a  boulder-choked  chan- 
nel, roaring  and  moaning  down  the  canon 
as  if  the  work  it  had  to  do  was  tremen- 
dously important  and  fateful ;  and  mingled 
with  these  storm  tones  were  those  of  the 
waterfalls  on  the  north  side  of  the  canon, 
now  sounding  distinctly,  now  smothered 
by  the  heavier  cataracts  of  air,  making  a 
glorious  psalm  of  savage  wildness.  My  fire 
squirmed  and  struggled  as  if  ill  at  ease,  for 
though  in  a  sheltered  nook,  detached  masses 
of  icy  wind  often  fell  like  icebergs  on  top 

[296] 


In  the  Sierra 

of  it,  scattering  sparks  and  coals,  so  that 
had  to  keep  well  back   to  avoid  being 
burned.   But  the  big  resiny  roots  and  knots 
of  the  dwarf  pine  could  neither  be  beaten 
>ut  nor  blown  away,  and  the  flames,  now 
rushing  up  in  long  lances,  now  flattened 
md  twisted  on  the  rocky  ground,  roared 
as  if  trying  to  tell  the  storm  stories  of  the 
•ees  they  belonged  to,  as  the  light  given 
>ut  was  telling  the  story  of  the  sunshine 
:hey  had  gathered  in  centuries  of  summers. 
The  stars  shone  clear  in  the  strip  of  sky 
jtween  the  huge  dark  cliffs  ;  and  as  I  lay 
recalling  the  lessons  of  the  day,  suddenly 
ic  full  moon  looked  down  over  the  canon 
pall,  her  face  apparently  filled  with  eager 
roncern,  which  had  a  startling  effect,  as  if 
;he  had  left  her  place  in  the  sky  and  had 
:ome  down  to  gaze  on  me  alone,  like  a 
>erson  entering  one's  bedroom.   It  was  hard 
to  realize  that  she  was  in  her  place  in  the 
sky,  and  was  looking  abroad  on  half  the 
globe,  land  and  sea,  mountains,  plains,  lakes, 
[  297] 


My  First  Summer 

rivers,  oceans,  ships,  cities  with  their  myriads 
of  inhabitants  sleeping  and  waking,  sick  and 
well.  No,  she  seemed  to  be  just  on  the  rim 
of  Bloody  Canon  and  looking  only  at  me. 
This  was  indeed  getting  near  to  Nature.  I 
remember  watching  the  harvest  moon  ris- 
ing above  the  oak  trees  in  Wisconsin  appar- 
ently as  big  as  a  cart-wheel  and  not  farther 
than  half  a  mile  distant.  With  these  excep- 
tions I  might  say  I  never  before  had  seen 
the  moon,  and  this  night  she  seemed  so  full 
of  life  and  so  near,  the  effect  was  marvel- 
ously  impressive  and  made  me  forget  the 
Indians,  the  great  black  rocks  above  me,  and 
the  wild  uproar  of  the  winds  and  waters 
making  their  way  down  the  huge  jagged 
gorge.  Of  course  I  slept  but  little  and  gladly 
welcomed  the  dawn  over  the  Mono  Desert. 
By  the  time  I  had  made  a  cupful  of  tea  the 
sunbeams  were  pouring  through  the  canon, 
and  I  set  forth,  gazing  eagerly  at  the  tre- 
mendous walls  of  red  slates  savagely  hacked 
and  scarred  and  apparently  ready  to  fall  in 
[  298  ]  ' 


In  the  Sierra 

avalanches  great  enough  to  choke  the  pass 
and  fill  up  the  chain  of  lakelets.  But  soon  its 
beauties  came  to  view,  and  I  bounded  lightly 
from  rock  to  rock,  admiring  the  polished 
bosses  shining  in  the  slant  sunshine  with 
glorious  effect  in  the  general  roughness  of 
moraines  and  avalanche  taluses,  even  toward 
the  head  of  the  canon  near  the  highest  foun- 
tains of  the  ice.  Here,  too,  are  most  of  the 
lowly  plant  people  seen  yesterday  on  the 
other  side  of  the  divide  now  opening  their 
beautiful  eyes.  None  could  fail  to  glory  in 
Nature's  tender  care  for  them  in  so  wild  a 
place.  The  little  ouzel  is  flitting  from  rock 
to  rock  along  the  rapid  swirling  Canon 
Creek,  diving  for  breakfast  in  icy  pools,  and 
merrily  singing  as  if  the  huge  rugged  ava- 
lanche-swept gorge  was  the  most  delightful 
>f  all  its  mountain  homes.  Besides  a  high 
fall  on  the  north  wall  of  the  canon,  appar- 
ently coming  direct  from  the  sky,  there  are 
many  narrow  cascades,  bright  silvery  ribbons 
zigzagging  down  the  red  cliffs,  tracing  the 
[  299  J 


My  First  Summer 

diagonal  cleavage  joints  of  the  metamorphic 
slates,  now  contracted  and  out  of  sight,  now 
leaping  from  ledge  to  ledge  in  filmy  sheets 
through  which  the  sunbeams  sift.  And  on 
the  main  Canon  Creek,  to  which  all  these 
are  tributary,  is  a  series  of  small  falls,  cas- 
cades, and  rapids  extending  all  the  way  down 
to  the  foot  of  the  canon,  interrupted  only  by 
the  lakes  in  which  the  tossed  and  beaten 
waters  rest.  One  of  the  finest  of  the  cascades 
is  outspread  on  the  face  of  a  precipice,  its 
waters  separated  into  ribbon-like  strips,  and 
woven  into  a  diamond-like  pattern  by  trac- 
ing the  cleavage  joints  of  the  rock,  while 
tufts  of  bryanthus,  grass,  sedge,  saxifrage 
form  beautiful  fringes.  Who  could  imagine 
beauty  so  fine  in  so  savage  a  place  ?  Gardens 
are  blooming  in  all  sorts  of  nooks  and  hol- 
lows, —  at  the  head  alpine  eriogonums,  eri- 
gerons,  saxifrages,  gentians,  cowania,  bush 
primula;  in  the  middle  region  larkspur, 
columbine,  orthocarpus,  castilleia,  harebell, 
epilobium,  violets,  mints,  yarrow ;  near  the 
[  300  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

foot  sunflowers,  lilies,  brier  rose,  iris,  Ionic- 
era,  clematis. 

One  of  the  smallest  of  the  cascades,  which 
I  name  the  Bower  Cascade,  is  in  the  lower 
region  of  the  pass,  where  the  vegetation  is 
snowy  and  luxuriant.  Wild  rose  and  dog- 
wood form  dense  masses  overarching  the 
stream,  and  out  of  this  bower  the  creek, 
grown  strong  with  many  indashing  tribu- 
taries, leaps  forth  into  the  light,  and  de- 
scends in  a  fluted  curve  thick-sown  with  crisp 
flashing  spray.  At  the  foot  of  the  canon 
there  is  a  lake  formed  in  part  at  least  by  the 
damming  of  the  stream  by  a  terminal  mo- 
raine. The  three  other  lakes  in  the  canon 
are  in  basins  eroded  from  the  solid  rock, 
where  the  pressure  of  the  glacier  was  great- 
est, and  the  most  resisting  portions  of  the 
>asin  rims  are  beautifully,  tellingly  polished. 
Below  Moraine  Lake  at  the  foot  of  the 
canon  there  are  several  old  lake-basins  lying 
between  the  large  lateral  moraines  which 
extend  out  into  the  desert.  These  basins  are 


My  First  Summer 

now  completely  filled  up  by  the  material 
carried  in  by  the  streams,  and  changed  to 
dry  sandy  flats  covered  mostly  by  grass  and 
artemisia  and  sun-loving  flowers.  All  these 
lower  lake-basins  were  evidently  formed  by 
terminal  moraine  dams  deposited  where  the 
receding  glacier  had  lingered  during  short 
periods  of  less  waste,  or  greater  snowfall,  or 
both. 

Looking  up  the  canon  from  the  warm 
sunny  edge  of  the  Mono  plain  my  morning 
ramble  seems  a  dream,  so  great  is  the  change 
in  the  vegetation  and  climate.  The  lilies  on 
the  bank  of  Moraine  Lake  are  higher  than 
my  head,  and  the  sunshine  is  hot  enough  for 
palms.  Yet  the  snow  round  the  arctic  gar- 
dens at  the  summit  of  the  pass  is  plainly  visi- 
ble, only  about  four  miles  away,  and  between 
lie  specimen  zones  of  all  the  principal  cli- 
mates of  the  globe.  In  little  more  than  an 
hour  one  may  swoop  down  from  winter  to 
summer,  from  an  arctic  to  a  torrid  region, 
through  as  great  changes  of  climate  as  one 
[  302  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

would  encounter  in  traveling  from  Labrador 
to  Florida. 

The  Indians  I  had  met  near  the  head  of 
the  canon  had  camped  at  the  foot  of  it  the 
night  before  they  made  the  ascent,  and  I 
found  their  fire  still  smoking  on  the  side  of 
a  small  tributary  stream  near  Moraine  Lake; 
and  on  the  edge  of  what  is  called  the  Mono 
Desert,  four  or  five  miles  from  the  lake,  I 
came  to  a'  patch  of  elymus,  or  wild  rye, 
growing  in  magnificent  waving  clumps  six 
>r  eight  feet  high,  bearing  heads  six  to  eight 
inches  long.  The  crop  was  ripe,  and  Indian 
romen  were  gathering  the  grain  in  baskets 
>y  bending  down  large  handfuls,  beating  out 
ie  seed,  and  fanning  it  in  the  wind.   The 
grains  are  about  five  eighths  of  an  inch  long, 
[ark-colored  and  sweet.   I  fancy  the  bread 
made  from  it  must  be  as  good  as  wheat  bread. 
A  fine  squirrelish  employment  this  wild  grain 
gathering  seems,  and  the  women  were  evi- 
dently enjoying  it,  laughing  and  chattering 
and  looking  almost  natural,  though  most  In- 
[  303  ] 


My  First  Summer 

dians  I  have  seen  are  not  a  whit  more  natural 
in  their  lives  than  we  civilized  whites.  Per- 
haps if  I  knew  them  better  I  should  like 
them  better.  The  worst  thing  about  them  is 
their  uncleanliness.  Nothing  truly  wild  is  un- 
clean. Down  on  the  shore  of  Mono  Lake  I  saw 
a  number  of  their  flimsy  huts  on  the  banks  of 
streams  that  dash  swiftly  into  that  dead  sea, 
-  mere  brush  tents  where  they  lie  and  eat 
at  their  ease.  Some  of  the  men  were  feast- 
ing on  buffalo  berries,  lying  beneath  the  tall 
bushes  now  red  with  fruit.  The  berries  are 
rather  insipid,  but  they  must  needs  be  whole- 
some, since  for  days  and  weeks  the  Indians,  it 
is  said,  eat  nothing  else.  In  the  season  they  in 
like  manner  depend  chiefly  on  the  fat  larvae 
of  a  fly  that  breeds  in  the  salt  water  of  the 
lake,  or  on  the  big  fat  corrugated  caterpil- 
lars of  a  species  of  silkworm  that  feeds  on  the 
leaves  of  the  yellow  pine.  Occasionally  a 
grand  rabbit-drive  is  organized  and  hundreds 
are  slain  with  clubs  on  the  lake  shore,  chased 
and  frightened  into  a  dense  crowd  by  dogs, 
[  304  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

boys,  girls,  men  and  women,  and  rings  of  sage 
brush  fire,  when  of  course  they  are  quickly 
killed.  The  skins  are  made  into  blankets.  In 
the  autumn   the   more  enterprising  of  the 
hunters  bring  in  a  good  many  deer,  and  rarely 
a  wild  sheep  from  the  high  peaks.  Antelopes 
ised  to  be  abundant  on  the  desert  at  the  base 
>f  the  interior  mountain-ranges.  Sage  hens, 
grouse,  and  squirrels  help  to  vary  their  wild 
liet  of  worms ;  pine  nuts  also  from  the  small 
interesting  Pinus  monophylla,  and  good  bread 
ind  good  mush  are  made  from  acorns  and  wild 
ye.  Strange  to  say,  they  seem  to  like  the  lake 
larvae  best  of  all.  Long  windrows  are  washed 
ip  on  the  shore,  which  they  gather  and  dry 
like  grain  for  winter  use.  It  is  said  that  wars, 
>n  account  of  encroachments  on  each  other's 
worm-grounds,  are  of  common  occurrence 
imong  the  various  tribes  and  families.   Each 
:laims  a  certain  marked  portion  of  the  shore, 
'he  pine  nuts  are  delicious, — large  quanti- 
fies are  gathered  every  autumn.   The  tribes 
>f  the  west  flank  of  the  range  trade  acorns 
[  305  ] 


My  First  Summer 

for  worms  and  pine  nuts.  The  squaws  carry 
immense  loads  on  their  backs  across  the 
rough  passes  and  down  the  range,  making 
journeys  of  about  forty  or  fifty  miles  each 
way. 

The  desert  around  the  lake  is  surprisingly 


MONO    LAKE    AND    VOLCANIC    CONES,    LOOKING    SOUTH 

flowery.  In  many  places  among  the  sage 
bushes  I  saw  mentzelia,  abronia,  aster,  big- 
elovia,  and  gilia,  all  of  which  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  hot  sunshine.  The  abronia,  in 
particular,  is  a  delicate,  fragrant,  and  most 
charming  plant. 

Opposite  the  mouth  of  the  canon  a  range 
[  306  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

of  volcanic  cones  extends  southward  from 
the  lake,  rising  abruptly  out  of  the  desert 
like  a  chain  of  mountains.  The  largest  of 
the  cones  are  about  twenty-five  hundred  feet 
high  above  the  lake  level,  have  well-formed 
:raters,  and  all  of  them  are  evidently  compara- 


HIGHEST    MONO    VOLCANIC    CONES    (NEAR    VIEW) 

tively  recent  additions  to  the  landscape.  At  a 
distance  of  a  few  miles  they  look  like  heaps 
of  loose  ashes  that  have  never  been  blest  by 
either  rain  or  snow,  but,  for  a'  that  and  a' 
that,  yellow  pines  are  climbing  their  gray 
slopes,  trying  to  clothe  them  and  give 
beauty  for  ashes.  A  country  of  wonderful 
[  307  ] 


My  First  Summer 

contrasts.  Hot  deserts  bounded  by  snow- 
laden  mountains,  —  cinders  and  ashes  scat- 
tered on  glacier-polished  pavements,  —  frost 
and  fire  working  together  in  the  making 
of  beauty.  In  the  lake  are  several  volcanic 
islands,  which  show  that  the  waters  were 
once  mingled  with  fire. 

Glad  to  get  back  to  the  green  side  of  the 
mountains,  though  I  have  greatly  enjoyed  the 
gray  east  side  and  hope  to  see  more  of  it. 
Reading  these  grand  mountain  manuscripts 
displayed  through  every  vicissitude  of  heat 
and  cold,  calm  and  storm,  upheaving  volca- 
noes and  down-grinding  glaciers,  we  see  that 
everything  in  Nature  called  destruction  must 
be  creation,  —  a  change  from  beauty  to 
beauty. 

Our  glacier  meadow  camp  north  of  the 
Soda  Springs  seems  more  beautiful  every  day. 
The  grass  covers  all  the  ground  though  the 
leaves  are  thread-like  in  fineness,  and  in  walk- 
ing on  the  sod  it  seems  like  a  plush  carpet 
of  marvelous  richness  and  softness,  and  the 
[  308] 


Sierra  Range  from  Mono  Crater 


In  the  Sierra 

mrple  panicles  brushing  against  one's  feet  are 
iot  felt.  This  is  a  typical  glacier  meadow, 

:cupying  the  basin  of  a  vanished  lake,  very 
[efinitely  bounded  by  walls  of  the  arrowy 
:wo-leaved  pines  drawn  up  in  handsome  or- 
ierly  array  like  soldiers  on  parade.  There  are 

lany  other  meadows  of  the  same  kind  here- 
ibouts  imbedded  in  the  woods.  The  main  big 

icadows  along  the  river  are  the  same  in  gen- 
eral and  extend  with  but  little  interruption  for 
ten  or  twelve  miles,  but  none  I  have  seen  are  so 
inely  finished  and  perfect  as  this  one.  It  is 
•icher  in  flowering  plants  than  the  prairies  of 
isconsin  and  Illinois  were  when  in  all  their 

rild  glory.  The  showy  flowers  are  mostly 
:hree  species  of  gentian,  a  purple  and  yellow 
>rthocarpus,  a  golden-rod  or  two,  a  small  blue 
>entstemon  almost  like  a  gentian,  potentilla, 
ivesia,  pedicularis,  white  violet,  kalmia,  and 
bryanthus.  There  are  no  coarse  weedy  plants. 
Through  this  flowery  lawn  flows  a  stream  si- 
lently gliding,  swirling,  slipping  as  if  careful 
not  to  make  the  slightest  noise.  It  is  only 
[  309  ] 


My  First  Summer 

about  three  feet  wide  in  most  places,  widening 
here  and  there  into  pools  six  or  eight  feet  in 
diameter  with  no  apparent  current,  the  banks 
bossily  rounded  by  the  down-curving  mossy 
sod,  grass  panicles  over-leaning  like  minia- 
ture pine  trees,  and  rugs  of  bryanthus  spread- 
ing here  and  there  over  sunken  boulders.  At 
the  foot  of  the  meadow  the  stream,  rich  with 
the  juices  of  the  plants  it  has  refreshed,  sings 
merrily  down  over  shelving  rock  ledges 
on  its  way  to  the  Tuolumne  River.  The 
sublime,  massive  Mt.  Dana  and  its  com- 
panions, green,  red,  and  white,  loom  impres- 
sively above  the  pines  along  the  eastern 
horizon;  a  range  or  spur  of  gray  rugged 
granite  crags  and  mountains  on  the  north; 
the  curiously  crested  and  battlemented  Mt. 
Hoffman  on  the  west;  and  the  Cathedral 
Range  on  the  south  with  its  grand  Cathe- 
dral Peak,  Cathedral  Spires,  Unicorn  Peak, 
and  several  others,  gray  and  pointed,  or 
massively  rounded. 

August  22.  —  Clouds    none,    cool   west 
[  3io] 


In  the  Sierra 

ind,   slight    hoarfrost    on    the    meadows, 
'arlo  is  missing  ;   have  been  seeking  him 
ill  day.   In  the  thick  woods  between  camp 
md  the  river,  among  tall  grass  and  fallen 
unes,  I  discovered  a  baby  fawn.   At  first  it 
;emed  inclined  to  come  to  me;  but  when 
tried  to   catch  it,  and  got  within  a  rod 
>r  two,  it  turned  and  walked  softly  away, 
:hoosing  its  steps  like  a  cautious,  stealthy, 
hunting  cat.  Then,  as  if  suddenly  called  or 
ilarmed,  it  began  to  buck  and  run  like  a 
^rown  deer,  jumping  high  above  the  fallen 
:runks,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight.   Possibly 
its  mother   may   have  called  it,  but  I  did 
not  hear  her.   I  don't  think  fawns  ever  leave 
the  home  thicket  or  follow  their  mothers 
intil   they  are  called  or  frightened.   I  am 
listressed  about   Carlo.    There  are  several 
>ther  camps  and  dogs  not  many  miles  from 
here,  and  I  still  hope  to  find  him.   He  never 
left  me  before.   Panthers  are  very  rare  here, 
and  I  don't  think  any  of  these  cats  would 
dare  touch  him.    He  knows  bears  too  well 


My  First  Summer 

to  be  caught  by  them,  and  as  for  Indians, 
they  don't  want  him. 

August  23. —  Cool,  bright  day,  hinting 
Indian  summer.  Mr.  Delaney  has  gone  to 
the  Smith  Ranch,  on  the  Tuolumne  below 
Hetch-Hetchy  Valley,  thirty-five  or  forty 
miles  from  here,  so  I  '11  be  alone  for  a  week 
or  more,  —  not  really  alone,  for  Carlo  has 
come  back.  He  was  at  a  camp  a  few  miles 
to  the  northwestward.  He  looked  sheep- 
ish and  ashamed  when  I  asked  him  where 
he  had  been  and  why  he  had  gone  away 
without  leave.  He  is  now  trying  to  get  me 
to  caress  him  and  show  signs  of  forgiveness. 
A  wondrous  wise  dog.  A  great  load  is  off 
my  mind.  I  could  not  have  left  the  moun- 
tains without  him.  He  seems  very  glad  to 
get  back  to  me. 

Rose  and  crimson  sunset,  and  soon  after 
the  stars  appeared  the  moon  rose  in  most 
impressive  majesty  over  the  top  of  Mt.  Dana. 
I  sauntered  up  the  meadow  in  the  white 
light.  The  jet-black  tree-shadows  were  so 
[  312  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

wonderfully  distinct  and  substantial  looking, 
I  often  stepped  high  in  crossing  them,  taking 
them  for  black  charred  logs. 

August   24.  —  Another    charming    day, 
warm  and  calm  soon  after  sunrise,  clouds 
>nly  about  .01, --faint,  silky  cirrus  wisps, 
:arcely  visible.  Slight  frost,  Indian  summer- 
ish,  the  mountains  growing  softer  in  out- 
line and  dreamy  looking,  their  rough  angles 
iclted  off,  apparently.   Sky  at  evening  with 
ine,  dark,  subdued  purple,  almost  like  the 
evening  purple  of  the  San  Joaquin  plains 
in  settled  weather.  The  moon  is  now  gazing 
>ver  the  summit  of  Dana.  Glorious  exhil- 
irating  air.   I  wonder  if  in  all  the  world 
:here  is  another  mountain  range  of  equal 
icight  blessed  with  weather  so  fine,  and  so 
>penly  kind  and  hospitable  and  approach- 
ible. 

August  25.  —  Cool  as  usual  in  the  morn- 
ing, quickly  changing  to  the  ordinary  serene 
;enerous  warmth  and  brightness.  Toward 
evening  the  west  wind  was  cool  and  sent  us 


My  First  Summer 

to  the  camp-fire.  Of  all  Nature's  flowery 
carpeted  mountain  halls  none  can  be  finer 
than  this  glacier  meadow.  Bees  and  butter- 
flies seem  as  abundant  as  ever.  The  birds  are 
still  here,  showing  no  sign  of  leaving  for  win- 
ter quarters  though  the  frost  must  bring  them 
to  mind.  For  my  part  I  should  like  to  stay 
here  all  winter  or  all  my  life  or  even  all 
eternity. 

August  26.  --Frost  this  morning;  all  the 
meadow  grass  and  some  of  the  pine  needles 
sparkling  with  irised  crystals, — flowers  of 
light.  Large  picturesque  clouds,  craggy  like 
rocks,  are  piled  on  Mt.  Dana,  reddish  in  color 
like  the  mountain  itself;  the  sky  for  a  few 
degrees  around  the  horizon  is  pale  purple, 
into  which  the  pines  dip  their  spires  with 
fine  effect.  Spent  the  day  as  usual  looking 
about  me,  watching  the  changing  lights,  the 
ripening  autumn  colors  of  the  grass,  seeds, 
late-blooming  gentians,  asters,  golden-rods ; 
parting  the  meadow  grass  here  and  there  and 
looking  down  into  the  underworld  of  mosses 


In  the  Sierra 

ind  liverworts ;  watching  the  busy  ants  and 
beetles  and  other  small  people  at  work  and 
play  like  squirrels  and  bears  in  a  forest ; 
studying  the  formation  of  lakes  and  meadows, 
moraines,  mountain  sculpture ;  making  small 
beginnings  in  these  directions,  charmed  by 
:he  serene  beauty  of  everything. 

The  day  has  been  extra  cloudy,  though 
bright  on  the  whole,  for  the  clouds  were 
brighter  than  common.  Clouds  about  .15, 
rhich  in  Switzerland  would  be  considered 
extra  clear.  Probably  more  free  sunshine  falls 
on  this  majestic  range  than  on  any  other  in 
:he  world  I  've  ever  seen  or  heard  of.  It  has 
:he  brightest  weather,  brightest  glacier-pol- 
ished rocks,  the  greatest  abundance  of  irised 
;pray  from  its  glorious  waterfalls,  the  bright- 
est forests  of  silver  firs  and  silver  pines,  more 
;tar-shine,  moonshine,  and  perhaps  more  crys- 
tal-shine than  any  other  mountain  chain,  and 
its  countless  mirror  lakes,  having  more  light 
poured  into  them,  glow  and  spangle  most. 
And  how  glorious  the  shining  after  the  short 


My  First  Summer 

summer  showers  and  after  frosty  nights  when 
the  morning  sunbeams  are  pouring  through 
the  crystals  on  the  grass  and  pine  needles,  and 
how  ineffably  spiritually  fine  is  the  morning- 
glow  on  the  mountain-tops  and  the  alpenglow 
of  evening.  Well  may  the  Sierra  be  named, not 
the  Snowy  Range,  but  the  Range  of  Light. 

August  27.  —  Clouds  only  .05,  —  mostly 
white  and  pink  cumuli  over  the  Hoffman 
spur  towards  evening,  —  frosty  morning. 
Crystals  grow  in  marvelous  beauty  and  perfec- 
tion of  form  these  still  nights,  every  one  built 
as  carefully  as  the  grandest  holiest  temple,  as 
if  planned  to  endure  forever. 

Contemplating  the  lace-like  fabric  of 
streams  outspread  over  the  mountains,  we  are 
reminded  that  everything  is  flowing —  going 
somewhere,  animals  and  so-called  lifeless 
rocks  as  well  as  water.  Thus  the  snow  flows 
fast  or  slow  in  grand  beauty-making  glaciers 
and  avalanches;  the  air  in  majestic  floods 
carrying  minerals,  plant  leaves,  seeds,  spores, 
with  streams  of  music  and  fragrance ;  water 


In  the  Sierra 

streams  carrying  rocks  both  in  solution  and 
in  the  form  of  mud  particles,  sand,  pebbles, 
md  boulders.  Rocks  flow  from  volcanoes 
like  water  from  springs,  and  animals  flock 
:ogether  and  flow  in  currents  modified  by 
itepping,  leaping,  gliding,  flying,  swimming, 

tc.  While  the  stars  go  streaming  through 
ipace  pulsed  on  and  on  forever  like  blood 
globules  in  Nature's  warm  heart. 

ugust^. — The  dawn  a  glorious  song 
>f  color.  Sky  absolutely  cloudless.  A  fine 

•op  of  hoarfrost.  Warm  after  ten  o'clock. 

'he  gentians  don't  mind  the  first  frost  though 
:heir  petals  seem  so  delicate;  they  close  every 
light  as  if  going  to  sleep,  and  awake  fresh 
ever  in  the  morning  sun-glory.  The  grass 

a  shade  browner  since  last  week,  but  there 
ire  no  nipped  wilted  plants  of  any  sort  as  far 
as  I  have  seen.  Butterflies  and  the  grand  host 
of  smaller  flies  are  benumbed  every  night, 
>ut  they  hover  and  dance  in  the  sunbeams 
>ver  the  meadows  before  noon  with  no  ap- 
parent lack  of  playful,  joyful  life.  Soon  they 


My  First  Summer 

must  all  fall  like  petals  in  an  orchard,  dry 
and  wrinkled,  not  a  wing  of  all  the  mighty 
host  left  to  tingle  the  air.  Nevertheless 
new  myriads  will  arise  in  the  spring,  rejoic- 
ing, exulting,  as  if  laughing  cold  death  to 
scorn. 

August  29. --Clouds  about  .05,  slight 
frost.  Bland  serene  Indian  summer  weather. 
Have  been  gazing  all  day  at  the  moun- 
tains, watching  the  changing  lights.  More 
and  more  plainly  are  they  clothed  with  light 
as  a  garment,  white  tinged  with  pale  purple, 
palest  during  the  midday  hours,  richest  in 
the  morning  and  evening.  Everything  seems 
consciously  peaceful,  thoughtful,  faithfully 
waiting  God's  will. 

August  30. — This  day  just  like  yesterday. 
A  few  clouds  motionless  and  apparently  with 
no  work  to  do  beyond  looking  beautiful. 
Frost  enough  for  crystal  building, — glorious 
fields  of  ice-diamonds  destined  to  last  but  a 
night.  How  lavish  is  Nature  building,  pull- 
ing down,  creating,  destroying, chasing  every 


In  the  Sierra 

iaterial  particle  from  form  to  form,  ever 
:hanging,  ever  beautiful. 

Mr.  Delaney  arrived  this  morning.  Felt 
lot  a  trace  of  loneliness  while  he  was  gone.  On 
the  contrary,  I  never  enjoyed  grander  com- 
pany. The  whole  wilderness  seems  to  be  alive 
and  familiar,  full  of  humanity.  The  very 
stones  seem  talkative, sympathetic, brotherly. 
\o  wonder  when  we  consider  that  we  all 
have  the  same  Father  and  Mother. 

August  31.  —  Clouds  .05.  Silky  cirrus 
wisps  and  fringes  so  fine  they  almost  escape 
notice.  Frost  enough  for  another  crop  of 
crystals  on  the  meadows  but  none  on  the 
forests.  The  gentians,  golden-rods, asters, etc., 
lon't  seem  to  feel  it ;  neither  petals  nor  leaves 
are  touched  though  they  seem  so  tender. 
Every  day  opens  and  closes  like  a  flower, 
noiseless,  effortless.  Divine  peace  glows  on 
all  the  majestic  landscape  like  the  silent  en- 
thusiastic joy  that  sometimes  transfigures  a 
loble  human  face. 
September  i.  — Clouds  .05,  —  motionless, 


My  First  Summer 

of  no  particular  color,  —  ornaments  with  no 
hint  of  rain  or  snow  in  them.  Day  all  calm, 
—  another  grand  throb  of  Nature's  heart,  rip- 
ening late  flowers  and  seeds  for  next  summer, 
full  of  life  and  the  thoughts  and  plans  of  life 
to  come,  and  full  of  ripe  and  ready  death 
beautiful  as  life,  telling  divine  wisdom  and 
goodness  and  immortality.  Have  been  up  Mt. 
Dana,  making  haste  to  see  as  much  as  I  can 
now  that  the  time  of  departure  is  drawing 
nigh.  The  views  from  the  summit  reach  far 
and  wide,  eastward  over  the  Mono  Lake  and 
Desert ;  mountains  beyond  mountains  look- 
ing strangely  barren  and  gray  and  bare  like 
heaps  of  ashes  dumped  from  the  sky.  The 
lake,  eight  or  ten  miles  in  diameter,  shines 
like  a  burnished  disk  of  silver,  no  trees  about 
its  gray,  ashy,  cindery  shores.  Looking  west- 
ward, the  glorious  forests  are  seen  sweeping 
over  countless  ridges  and  hills,  girdling 
domes  and  subordinate  mountains,  fringing 
in  long  curving  lines  the  dividing  ridges,  and 
filling  every  hollow  where  the  glaciers  have 
[  320  ] 


9 

In  the  Sierra 

spread  soil-beds  however  rocky  or  smooth. 
Looking  northward  and  southward  along  the 
axis  of  the  range,  you  see  the  glorious  array 
of  high  mountains,  crags  and  peaks  and  snow, 
the  fountain-heads  of  rivers  that  are  flowing 
west  to  the  sea  through  the  famous  Golden 
Gate,  and  east  to  hot  salt  lakes  and  deserts  to 
evaporate  and  hurry  back  into  the  sky.  In- 
numerable lakes  are  shining  like  eyes  beneath 
heavy  rock  brows,  bare  or  tree  fringed,  or  im- 
bedded in  black  forests.  Meadow  openings 
in  the  woods  seem  as  numerous  as  the  lakes 
or  perhaps  more  so.  Far  up  the  moraine- 
covered  slopes  and  among  crumbling  rocks 
I  found  many  delicate  hardy  plants,  some  of 
them  still  in  flower.  The  best  gains  of  this 
trip  were  the  lessons  of  unity  and  inter-re- 
lation of  all  the  features  of  the  landscape 
revealed  in  general  views.  The  lakes  and 
meadows  are  located  just  where  the  ancient 
glaciers  bore  heaviest  at  the  foot  of  the  steep- 
est parts  of  their  channels,  and  of  course  their 
longest  diameters  are  approximately  parallel 
[  321  ] 


My  First  Summer 

with  each  other  and  with  the  belts  of  forests 
growing  in  long  curving  lines  on  the  lateral 
and  medial  moraines,  and  in  broad  outspread- 
ing fields  on  the  terminal  beds  deposited  to- 
ward the  end  of  the  ice  period  when  the 
glaciers  were  receding.  The  domes,  ridges, 
and  spurs  also  show  the  influence  of  glacial 
action  in  their  forms,  which  approximately 
seem  to  be  the  forms  of  greatest  strength  with 
reference  to  the  stress  of  oversweeping,  past- 
sweeping,  down-grinding  ice-streams;  sur- 
vivals of  the  most  resisting  masses,  or  those 
most  favorably  situated.  How  interesting 
everything  is !  Every  rock,  mountain,  stream, 
plant,  lake,  lawn,  forest,  garden,  bird,  beast, 
insect  seems  to  call  and  invite  us  to  come 
and  learn  something  of  its  history  and  re- 
lationship. But  shall  the  poor  ignorant 
scholar  be  allowed  to  try  the  lessons  they  of- 
fer ?  It  seems  too  great  and  good  to  be  true. 
Soon  I'll  be  going  to  the  lowlands.  The 
bread  camp  must  soon  be  removed.  If  I  had 
a  few  sacks  of  flour,an  axe,  and  some  matches, 
[  322  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

I  would  build  a  cabin  of  pine  logs,  pile  up 
plenty  of  firewood  about  it  and  stay  all  winter 
to  see  the  grand  fertile  snow-storms,  watch 
the  birds  and  animals  that  winter  thus  high, 
how  they  live,  how  the  forests  look  snow- 


ONE  OF  THE  HIGHEST  MT.  RITTER  FOUNTAINS 

laden  or  buried,  and  how  the  avalanches  look 
and  sound  on  their  way  down  the  mountains. 
But  now  I  '11  have  to  go,  for  there  is  nothing 
to  spare  in  the  way  of  provisions.  I  '11  surely 
be  back,  however,  surely  I  '11  be  back.  No 
[  323  ] 


My  First  Summer 

other  place  has  ever  so  overwhelmingly  at- 
tracted me  as  this  hospitable,  Godful  wilder- 
ness. 

September  2. — A  grand,  red,  rosy,  crim- 
,  son  day,  --a  perfect  glory  of  a  day.  What 
it  means  I  don't  know.  It  is  the  first  marked 
change  from  tranquil  sunshine  with  purple 
mornings  and  evenings  and  still,  white  noons. 
There  is  nothing  like  a  storm,  however. 
The  average  cloudiness  only  about  .08,  and 
there  is  no  sighing  in  the  woods  to  betoken 
a  big  weather  change.  The  sky  was  red  in 
the  morning  and  evening,  the  color  not  dif- 
fused like  the  ordinary  purple  glow,  but 
loaded  upon  separate  well-defined  clouds 
that  remained  motionless,  as  if  anchored 
around  the  jagged  mountain-fenced  hori- 
zon. A  deep-red  cap,  bluffy  around  its  sides, 
lingered  a  long  time  on  Mt.  Dana  and  Mt. 
Gibbs,  drooping  so  low  as  to  hide  most  of 
their  bases,  but  leaving  Dana's  round  sum- 
mit free,  which  seemed  to  float  separate 
and  alone  over  the  big  crimson  cloud.  Mam- 
[324] 


au 

la^ 

V,o 


In  the  Sierra 

moth  Mountain,  to  the  south  of  Gihbs  and 
Bloody  Canon,  striped  and  spotted  with 
snow-banks  and  clumps  of  dwarf  pine,  was 
also  favored  with  a  glorious  crimson  cap,  in 
the  making  of  which  there  was  no  trace  of 
conomy,  --a  huge  bossy  pile  colored  with 
a  perfect  passion  of  crimson,  that  seemed 
important  enough  to  be  sent  off  to  burn 
among  the  stars  in  majestic  independence, 

:ne  is  constantly  reminded  of  the  infinite 
yishness  and  fertility  of  Nature,  --inex- 
iiaustible  abundance  amid  what  seems  enor- 
mous waste.  And  yet  when  we  look  into 
any  of  her  operations  that  lie  within  reach 
of  our  minds,  we  learn  that  no  particle  of 
her  material  is  wasted  or  worn  out.  It  is 
eternally  flowing  from  use  to  use,  beauty 
to  yet  higher  beauty  ;  and  we  soon  cease  to 
lament  waste  and  death,  and  rather  rejoice 
and  exult  in  the  imperishable,  unspendable 
wealth  of  the  universe,  and  faithfully  watch 
and  wait  the  reappearance  of  everything 
that  melts  and  fades  and  dies  about  us,  feel- 
[325  ] 


My  First  Summer 

ing  sure  that  its  next  appearance  will  be 
better  and  more  beautiful  than  the  last. 

I  watched  the  growth  of  these  red-lands 
of  the  sky  as  eagerly  as  if  new  mountain 
ranges  were  being  built.  Soon  the  group  of 
snowy  peaks  in  whose  recesses  lie  the  high- 
est fountains  of  the  Tuolumne,  Merced,  and 
North  Fork  of  the  San  Joaquin  were  deco- 
rated with  majestic  colored  clouds  like  those 
already  described,  but  more  complicated, 
to  correspond  with  the  grand  fountain-heads 
of  the  rivers  they  overshadowed.  The  Sierra 
Cathedral,  to  the  south  of  camp,  was  over- 
shadowed like  Sinai.  Never  before  noticed 
so  fine  a  union  of  rock  and  cloud  in  form 
and  color  and  substance,  drawing  earth  and 
sky  together  as  one ;  and  so  human  is  it, 
every  feature  and  tint  of  color  goes  to  one's 
heart,  and  we  shout,  exulting  in  wild  en- 
thusiasm as  if  all  the  divine  show  were  our 
own.  More  and  more,  in  a  place  like  this, 
we  feel  ourselves  part  of  wild  Nature,  kin 
to  everything.  Spent  most  of  the  day  high 
[326] 


In  the  Sierra 

up  on  the  north  rim  of  the  valley,  com- 
manding views  of  the  clouds  in  all  their 
red  glory  spreading  their  wonderful  light 
over  all  the  basin,  while  the  rocks  and  trees 
and  small  Alpine  plants  at  my  feet  seemed 
hushed  and  thoughtful,  as  if  they  also  were 
conscious  spectators  of  the  glorious  new 
cloud-world. 

Here  and  there,  as  I  plodded  farther  and 
higher,  I-came  to  small  garden-patches  and 
ferneries  just  where  one  would  naturally  de- 
cide that  no  plant-creature  could  possibly 
live.  But,  as  in  the  region  about  the  head 
of  Mono  Pass  and  the  top  of  Dana,  it  was 
in  the  wildest,  highest  places  that  the  most 
beautiful  and  tender  and  enthusiastic  plant- 
people  were  found.  Again  and  again,  as  I 
lingered  over  these  charming  plants,  I  said, 
How  came  you  here  ?  How  do  you  live 
through  the  winter  ?  Our  roots,  they  ex- 
plained, reach  far  down  the  joints  of  the 
summer-warmed  rocks,  and  beneath  our  fine 
snow  mantle  killing  frosts  cannot  reach  us, 
[  327  ] 


My  First  Summer 

while  we  sleep  away  the  dark  half  of  the 
year  dreaming  of  spring. 

Ever  since  I  was  allowed  entrance  into 
these  mountains  I  have  been  looking  for 
cassiope,  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  and 
best  loved  of  the  heathworts,  but,  strange  to 
say,  I  have  not  yet  found  it.  On  my  high 
mountain  walks  I  keep  muttering,  "  Cas- 
siope, cassiope."  This  name,  as  Calvinists 
say,  is  driven  in  upon  me,  notwithstanding 
the  glorious  host  of  plants  that  come  about 
me  uncalled  as  soon  as  I  show  myself.  Cas- 
siope seems  the  highest  name  of  all  the 
small  mountain-heath  people,  and  as  if  con- 
scious of  her  worth,  keeps  out  of  my  way. 
I  must  find  her  soon,  if  at  all  this  year. 

September  4. --All  the  vast  sky  dome  is 
clear,  filled  only  with  mellow  Indian  sum- 
mer light.  The  pine  and  hemlock  and  fir 
cones  are  nearly  ripe  and  are  falling  fast 
from  morning  to  night,  cut  ofF  and  gath- 
ered by  the  busy  squirrels.  Almost  all  the 
plants  have  matured  their  seeds,  their  sum- 
[  328  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

mer  work  done ;  and  the  summer  crop  of 
birds  and  deer  will  soon  be  able  to  follow 
their  parents  to  the  foothills  and  plains  at 
the  approach  of  winter,  when  the  snow  be- 
gins to  fly. 

September  5.  —  No  clouds.  Weather  cool, 
calm,  bright  as  if  no  great  thing  was  yet  ready 
to  be  done.  Have  been  sketching  the  North 
Tuolumne  Church.  The  sunset  gloriously 
colored.* 

September  6.  -  -  Still  another  perfectly 
cloudless  day,  purple  evening  and  morning, 
all  the  middle  hours  one  mass  of  pure  serene 
sunshine.  Soon  after  sunrise  the  air  grew 
warm,  and  there  was  no  wind.  One  naturally 
halted  to  see  what  Nature  intended  to  do. 
There  is  a  suggestion  of  real  Indian  summer 
in  the  hushed,  brooding,  faintly  hazy  weather. 
The  yellow  atmosphere,  though  thin,  is  still 
plainly  of  the  same  general  character  as  that 
of  eastern  Indian  summer.  The  peculiar  mel- 
lowness is  perhaps  in  part  caused  by  myriads 
of  ripe  spores  adrift  in  the  sky. 
[  329  ] 


My  First  Summer 

Mr.  Delaney  now  keeps  up  a  solemn  talk 
about  the  need  of  getting  away  from  these 
high  mountains,  telling  sad  stories  of  flocks 
that  perished  in  storms  that  broke  suddenly 
into  the  midst  of  fine  innocent  weather  like 
this  we  are  now  enjoying.  "In  no  case," 
said  he,  "  will  I  venture  to  stay  so  high  and 
far  back  in  the  mountains  as  we  now  are 
later  than  the  middle  of  this  month,  no  mat- 
ter how  warm  and  sunny  it  may  be."  He 
would  move  the  flock  slowly  at  first,  a  few 
miles  a  day  until  the  Yosemite  Creek  basin 
was  reached  and  crossed,  then  while  linger- 
ing in  the  heavy  pine  woods  should  the 
weather  threaten  he  could  hurry  down  to 
the  foothills,  where  the  snow  never  falls  deep 
enough  to  smother  a  sheep.  Of  course  I  am 
anxious  to  see  as  much  of  the  wilderness  as 
possible  in  the  few  days  left  me,  and  I  say 
again, —  May  the  good  time  come  when  I 
can  stay  as  long  as  I  like  with  plenty  of  bread, 
far  and  free  from  trampling  flocks,  though 
I  may  well  be  thankful  for  this  generous  food- 
[  330] 


In  the  Sierra 

ful  inspiring  summer.  Anyhow  we  never 
know  where  we  must  go  nor  what  guides  we 
are  to  get,  —  men,  storms,  guardian  angels, 
or  sheep.  Perhaps  almost  everybody  in  the 
least  natural  is  guided  more  than  he  is  ever 
aware  of.  All  the  wilderness  seems  to  be  full 
of  tricks  and  plans  to  drive  and  draw  us  up 
into  God's  Light. 

Have  been  busy  planning,  and  baking 
bread  for  at  least  one  more  good  wild  excur- 
sion among  the  high  peaks,  and  surely  none, 
however  hopefully  aiming  at  fortune  or  fame, 
ever  felt  so  gloriously  happily  excited  by  the 
outlook. 

September  j.  —  Left  camp  at  daybreak  and 
made  direct  for  Cathedral  Peak,  intending 
to  strike  eastward  and  southward  from  that 
point  among  the  peaks  and  ridges  at  the 
heads  of  the  Tuolumne,  Merced,  and  San 
Joaquin  rivers.  Down  through  the  pine 
woods  I  made  my  way,  across  the  Tuolumne 
River  and  meadows,  and  up  the  heavily 
timbered  slope  forming  the  south  boundary 
[  33i  ] 


My  First  Summer 

of  the  upper  Tuolumne  basin,  along  the  east 
side  of  Cathedral  Peak,  and  up  to  its  top- 
most spire,  which  I  reached  at  noon,  having 
loitered  by  the  way  to  study  the  fine  trees, 
-two-leaved  pine,  mountain  pine,  albicau- 
lis  pine,  silver  fir,  and  the  most  charming, 
most  graceful  of  all  the  evergreens,  the 
mountain  hemlock.  High,  cool,  late-flower- 
ing meadows  also  detained  me,  and  lakelets 
and  avalanche  tracks  and  huge  quarries  of 
moraine  rocks  above  the  forests. 

All  the  way  up  from  the  Big  Meadows  to 
thebaseof  the  Cathedral  the  groundiscovered 
with  moraine  material,  the  left  lateral  mo- 
raine of  the  great  glacier  that  must  have  com- 
pletely filled  this  upper  Tuolumne  basin. 
Higher  there  are  several  small  terminal  mo- 
raines of  residual  glaciers  shoved  forward  at 
right  angles  against  the  grand  simple  lateral 
of  the  main  Tuolumne  Glacier.  A  fine  place 
to  study  mountain  sculpture  and  soil  making. 
The  view  from  the  Cathedral  Spires  is  .very 
fine  and  telling  in  every  direction.  Innu- 
[  332  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

merable  peaks,  ridges,  domes,  meadows,  lakes, 
and  woods;  the  forests  extending  in  long 
curving  lines  and  broad  fields  wherever  the 
glaciers  have  left  soil  for  them  to  grow  on, 
while  the  sides  of  the  highest  mountains 
show  a  straggling  dwarf  growth  clinging  to 


GLACIER    MEADOW    STREWN    WITH    MORAINE    BOULDERS, 
10,000    FEET    ABOVE    THE    SEA    (NEAR    MT.    DANA) 

rifts  in  the  rocks  apparently  independent  of 
soil.  The  dark  heath-like  growth  on  the 
Cathedral  roof  I  found  to  be  dwarf  snow- 
pressed  albicaulis  pine,  about  three  or  four 
feet  high,  but  very  old  looking.  Many  of 
\  333  ] 


My  First  Summer 

them  are  bearing  cones,  and  the  noisy  Clarke 
crow  is  eating  the  seeds,  using  his  long  bill 
like  a  woodpecker  in  digging  them  out  of 
the  cones.  A  good  many  flowers  are  still  in 
bloom  about  the  base  of  the  peak,  and  even 
on  the  roof  among  the  little  pines,  especially 
a  woody  yellow-flowered  eriogonum  and  a 
handsome  aster.  The  body  of  the  Cathe- 
dral is  nearly  square,  and  the  roof  slopes  are 
wonderfully  regular  and  symmetrical,  the 
ridge  trending  northeast  and  southwest.  This 
direction  has  apparently  been  determined  by 
structure  joints  in  the  granite.  The  gable  on 
the  northeast  end  is  magnificent  in  size  and 
simplicity,  and  at  its  base  there  is  a  big  snow- 
bank protected  by  the  shadow  of  the  build- 
ing. The  front  is  adorned  with  many  pinna- 
cles and  a  tall  spire  of  curious  workmanship. 
Here  too  the  joints  in  the  rock  are  seen 
to  have  played  an  important  part  in  deter- 
mining their  forms  and  size  and  general 
arrangement.  The  Cathedral  is  said  to  be 
about  eleven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea, 
[  334  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

but  the  height  of  the  building  itself  above 
the  level  of  the  ridge  it  stands  on  is  about 
fifteen  hundred  feet.  A  mile  or  so  to  the 
westward  there  is  a  handsome  lake,  and  the 
glacier-polished  granite  about  it  is  shining  so 
brightly  it  is  not  easy  in  some  places  to  trace 


FRONT  OF  CATHEDRAL  PEAK 

the  line  between  the  rock  and  water,  both 
shining  alike.  Of  this  lake  with  its  silvery 
basin  and  bits  of  meadow  and  groves  I  have 
a  fine  view  from  the  spires ;  also  of  Lake  Te- 
naya,  Cloud's  Rest,  and  the  South  Dome  of 
Yosemite,  Mt.  Starr  King,  Mt.  Hoffman, 
[  335  ] 


My  First  Summer 

the  Merced  peaks,  and  the  vast  multitude  of 
snowy  fountain  peaks  extending  far  north 
and  south  along  the  axis  of  the  range.  No 
feature,  however,  of  all  the  noble  landscape 
as  seen  from  here  seems  more  wonderful  than 
the  Cathedral  itself,  a  temple  displaying  Na- 
ture's best  masonry  and  sermons  in  stones. 
How  often  I  have  gazed  at  it  from  the  tops 
of  hills  and  ridges,  and  through  openings  in 
the  forests  on  my  many  short  excursions,  de- 
.voutly  wondering,  admiring,  longing !  This 
I  may  say  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  at 
church  in  California,  led  here  at  last,  every 
door  graciously  opened  for  the  poor  lonely 
worshiper.  In  our  best  times  everything  turns 
into  religion,  all  the  world  seems  a  church 
and  the  mountains  altars.  And  lo,  here  at  last 
in  front  of  the  Cathedral  is  blessed  cassiope, 
ringing  her  thousands  of  sweet-toned  bells, 
the  sweetest  church  music  I  ever  enjoyed. 
Listening,  admiring,  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon I  compelled  myself  to  hasten  away  east- 
ward back  of  rough,  sharp,  spiry,  splintery 

[336] 


In  the  Sierra 

peaks,  all  of  them  granite  like  the  Cathe- 
dral, sparkling  with  crystals,  —  feldspar, 
quartz,  hornblende,  mica,  tourmaline.  Had 
a  rather  difficult  walk  and  creep  across  an 
immense  snow  and  ice  cliff  which  gradually 
increased  in  steepness  as  I  advanced  until  it 
was  almost  impassable.  Slipped  on  a  danger- 
ous place,  but  managed  to  stop  by  digging 
my  heels  into  the  thawing  surface  just  on  the 
brink  of  a  yawning  ice  gulf.  Camped  beside 
little  pool  and  a  group  of  crinkled  dwarf 
>ines ;  and  as  I  sit  by  the  fire  trying  to  write 
totes  the  shallow  pool  seems  fathomless  with 
:he  infinite  starry  heavens  in  it,  while  the 
>nlooking  rocks  and  trees,  tiny  shrubs  and 
[aisies  and  sedges,  brought  forward  in  the 
fire-glow,  seem  full  of  thoughtas  if  about  to 
speak  aloud  and  tell  all  their  wild  stories.  A 
marvelously  impressive  meeting  in  which 
every  one  has  something  worth  while  to  tell. 
And  beyond  the  fire-beams  out  in  the  solemn 
darkness,  how  impressive  is  the  music  of  a 
choir  of  rills  singing  their  way  down  from 

[337] 


My  First  Summer 

the  snow  to  the  river  !  And  when  we  call 
to  mind  that  thousands  of  these  rejoicing  rills 
are  assembled  in  each  one  of  the  main 
streams,  we  wonder  the  less  that  our  Sierra 
rivers  are  songful  all  the  way  to  the  sea, 

About  sundown  saw  a  flock  of  dun  gray- 
ish sparrows  going  to  roost  in  crevices  of 
a  crag  above  the  big  snow-field.  Charm- 
ing little  mountaineers  !  Found  a  species 
of  sedge  in  flower  within  eight  or  ten  feet 
of  a  snow-bank.  Judging  by  the  looks  of 
the  ground,  it  can  hardly  have  been  out  in 
the  sunshine  much  longer  than  a  week,  and 
it  is  likely  to  be  buried  again  in  fresh  snow 
in  a  month  or  so,  thus  making  a  winter 
about  ten  months  long,  while  spring,  sum- 
mer, and  autumn  are  crowded  and  hurried 
into  two  months.  How  delightful  it  is  to 
be  alone  here  !  How  wild  everything  is,  - 
wild  as  the  sky  and  as  pure  !  Never  shall  I 
forget  this  big,  divine  day,  —  the  Cathe- 
dral and  its  thousands  of  cassiope  bells,  and 
the  landscapes  around  them,  and  this  camp 
[  338  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

in  the  gray  crags  above  the  woods,  with  its 
stars  and  streams  and  snow. 

September  8.  —  Day  of  climbing,  scram- 
bling, sliding  on  the  peaks  around  the  high- 
est sources  of  the  Tuolumne  and  Merced. 
Climbed  three  of  the  most  commanding  of 
the  mountains,  whose  names  I  don't  know ; 
crossed  streams  and  huge  beds  of  ice  and 
snow  more  than  I  could  keep  count  of. 
Neither  could  I  keep  count  of  the  lakes 
scattered  on  tablelands  and  in  the  cirques 
of  the  peaks,  and  in  chains  in  the  canons, 
linked  together  by  the  streams, --a  tre- 
mendously wild  gray  wilderness  of  hacked, 
shattered  crags,  ridges,  and  peaks,  a  few 
clouds  drifting  over  and  through  the  midst 
of  them  as  if  looking  for  work.  In  gen- 
eral views  all  the  immense  round  landscape 
seems  raw  and  lifeless  as  a  quarry,  yet  the 
most  charming  flowers  were  found  rejoicing 
in  countless  nooks  and  garden-like  patches 
everywhere.  I  must  have  done  three  or  four 
days'  climbing  work  in  this  one.  Limbs 
[  339] 


My  First  Summer 

perfectly  tireless  until  near  sundown,  when 
I  descended  into  the  main  upper  Tuolumne 


Mt.   Rittcr 


VIEW  OF  UPPER  TUOLUMNE   VALLEY 

valley  at  the  foot  of  Mt.  Lyell,  the  camp 

still  eight  or  ten  miles  distant.   Going  up 

[  340  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

through  the  pine  woods  past  the  Soda 
Springs  Dome  in  the  dark,  where  there  is 
much  fallen  timber,  and  when  all  the  ex- 
citement of  seeing  things  was  wanting,  I 
was  tired.  Arrived  at  the  main  camp  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  soon  was  sleeping  sound 
as  death. 

September  9.  —  Weariness  rested  away  and 
I  feel  eager  and  ready  for  another  excursion 
a  month  or  two  long  in  the  same  wonderful 
wilderness.  Now,  however,  I  must  turn 
toward  the  lowlands,  praying  and  hoping 
Heaven  will  shove  me  back  again. 

The  most  telling  thing  learned  in  these 
mountain  excursions  is  the  influence  of  cleav- 
age joints  on  the  features  sculptured  from  the 
general  mass  of  the  range.  Evidently  the  de- 
nudation has  been  enormous,  while  the  in- 
evitable outcome  is  subtle  balanced  beauty. 
Comprehended  in  general  views,  the  features 
of  the  wildest  landscape  seem  to  be  as  har- 
moniously related  as  the  features  of  a  human 
face.  Indeed,  they  look  human  and  radiate 
[  34i  ] 


My  First  Summer 

spiritual  beauty,  divine  thought,  however 
covered  and  concealed  by  rock  and  snow. 

Mr.  Delaney  has  hardly  had  time  to  ask 
me  how  I  enjoyed  my  trip,  though  he  has 
facilitated  and  encouraged  my  plans  all  sum- 
mer, and  declares  I  '11  be  famous  some  day, 
a  kind  guess  that  seems  strange  and  incredi- 
ble to  a  wandering  wilderness-lover  with 
never  a  thought  or  dream  of  fame  while 
humbly  trying  to  trace  and  learn  and  enjoy 
Nature's  lessons. 

The  camp  stuff  is  now  packed  on  the 
horses,  and  the  flock  is  headed  for  the  home 
ranch.  Away  we  go,  down  through  the  pines, 
leaving  the  lovely  lawn  where  we  have 
camped  so  long.  I  wonder  if  I  '11  ever  see  it 
again.  The  sod  is  so  tough  and  close  it  is 
scarcely  at  all  injured  by  the  sheep.  Fortu- 
nately they  are  not  fond  of  silky  glacier 
meadow  grass.  The  day  is  perfectly  clear, 
not  a  cloud  or  the  faintest  hint  of  a  cloud  is 
visible,  and  there  is  no  wind.  I  wonder  if  in 
all  the  world,  at  a  height  of  nine  thousand 
[  342  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

feet,  weather  so  steadily,  faithfully  calm  and 
bright  and  hospitable  may  anywhere  else  be 
found.  We  are  going  away  fearing  destruc- 
tive storms,  though  it  is  difficult  to  conceive 
weather  changes  so  great. 

Though  the  water  is  now  low  in  the  river, 
the  usual  difficulty  occurred  in  getting  the 
flock  across  it.  Every  sheep  seemed  to  be  in- 
vincibly determined  to  die  any  sort  of  dry 
death  rather  than  wet  its  feet.  Carlo  has 
learned  the  sheep  business  as  perfectly  as  the 
best  shepherd,  and  it  is  interesting  to  watch 
his  intelligent  efforts  to  push  or  frighten  the 
silly  creatures  into  the  water.  They  had  to 
be  fairly  crowded  and  shoved  over  the  bank ; 
and  when  at  last  one  crossed  because  it  could 
not  push  its  way  back,  the  whole  flock  sud- 
denly plunged  in  headlong  together,  as  if 
the  river  was  the  only  desirable  part  of  the 
world.  Aside  from  mere  money  profit  one 
would  rather  herd  wolves  than  sheep.  As  soon 
as  they  clambered  up  the  opposite  bank,  they 
began  baaing  and  feeding  as  if  nothing  un- 
[  343  ] 


My  First  Summer 

usual  had  happened.  We  crossed  the  mead- 
ows and  drove  slowly  up  the  south  rim  of  the 
valley  through  the  same  woods  I  had  passed 
on  my  way  to  Cathedral  Peak,  and  camped 
for  the  night  by  the  side  of  a  small  pond  on 
top  of  the  big  lateral  moraine. 

September  10. —  In  the  morning  at  day- 
break not  one  of  the  two  thousand  sheep  was 
in  sight.  Examining  the  tracks,  we  discov- 
ered that  they  had  been  scattered,  perhaps 
by  a  bear.  In  a  few  hours  all  were  found 
and  gathered  into  one  flock  again.  Had  fine 
view  of  a  deer.  How  graceful  and  perfect 
in  every  way  it  seemed  as  compared  with  the 
silly,  dusty,  tousled  sheep!  From  the  high 
ground  hereabouts  had  another  grand  view 
to  the  northward,  —  a  heaving,  swelling  sea 
of  domes  and  round-backed  ridges  fringed 
with  pines,  and  bounded  by  innumerable 
sharp-pointed  peaks,  gray  and  barren-look- 
ing, though  so  full  of  beautiful  life.  Another 
day  of  the  calm,  cloudless  kind,  purple  in  the 
morning  and  evening.  The  evening  glow  has 
[  344  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

been  very  marked  for  the  last  two  or  three 
weeks.  Perhaps  the  "zodiacal  light." 

September  n. —  Cloudless.  Slight  frost. 
Calm.  Fairly  started  down  hill,  and  now 
are  camped  at  the  west  end  meadows  of 
Lake  Tenaya, -- a  charming  place.  Lake 
smooth  as  glass,  mirroring  its  miles  of  gla- 
cier-polished pavements  and  bold  mountain 
walls.  Find  aster  still  in  flower.  Here  is 
about  the  upper  limit  of  the  dwarf  form 
of  the  goldcup  oak,  —  eight  thousand  feet 
above  sea-level,  —  reaching  about  two  thou- 
sand feet  higher  than  the  California  black 
oak  (Quercus  Calif ornicus}.  Lovely  evening, 
the  lake  reflections  after  dark  marvelously 
impressive. 

September  i  2. -- Cloudless  day,  all  pure 
sun-gold.  Among  the  magnificent  silver  firs 
once  more,  within  two  miles  of  the  brink 
of  Yosemite,  at  the  famous  Portuguese  bear 
camp.  Chaparral  of  goldcup  oak,  manza- 
nita,  and  ceanothus  abundant  hereabouts, 
wanting  about  the  Tuolumne  meadows, 
[  345  ] 


My  First  Summer 

though  the  elevation  is  but  little  higher 
there.  The  two-leaved  pine,  though  far 
more  abundant  about  the  Tuolumne  meadow 
region,  reaches  its  greatest  size  on  stream- 
sides  hereabouts  and  around  meadows  that 
are  rather  boggy.  All  the  best  dry  ground 
is  taken  by  the  magnificent  silver  fir,  which 
here  reaches  its  greatest  size  and  forms  a 
well-defined  belt.  A  glorious  tree.  Have 
fine  bed  of  its  boughs  to-night. 

September  13. —  Camp  this  evening  at 
Yosemite  Creek,  close  to  the  stream,  on  a 
little  sand  flat  near  our  old  camp-ground. 
The  vegetation  is  already  brown  and  yel- 
low and  dry ;  the  creek  almost  dry  also. 
The  slender  form  of  the  two-leaved  pine 
on  its  banks  is,  I  think,  the  handsomest 
I  have  anywhere  seen.  It  might  easily  pass 
at  first  sight  for  a  distinct  species,  though 
surely  only  a  variety  (Murray ana},  due  to 
crowded  and  rapid  growth  on  good  soil. 
The  yellow  pine  is  as  variable,  or  perhaps 
more  so.  The  form  here  and  a  thousand 
[  346] 


In  the  Sierra 

feet  higher,  on  crumbling  rocks,  is  broad 
branching,  with  closely  furrowed,  reddish 
bark,  large  cones,  and  long  leaves.  It  is  one 
of  the  hardiest  of  pines,  and  has  wonderful 
vitality.  The  tassels  of  long,  stout  needles 
shining  silvery  in  the  sun,  when  the  wind 
is  blowing  them  all  in  the  same  direction, 
is  one  of  the  most  splendid  spectacles  these 
glorious  Sierra  forests  have  to  show.  This 
variety  of  Pinus  ponderosa  is  regarded  as  a 
distinct  species,  Pinus  Jeffrey},  by  some  bot- 
anists. The  basin  of  this  famous  Yosemite 
stream  is  extremely  rocky, — seems  fairly 
to  be  paved  with  domes  like  a  street  with 
big  cobblestones.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever 
be  allowed  to  explore  it.  It  draws  me  so 
strongly,  I  would  make  any  sacrifice  to 
try  to  read  its  lessons.  I  thank  God  for 
this  glimpse  of  it.  The  charms  of  these 
mountains  are  beyond  all  common  reason, 
unexplainable  and  mysterious  as  life  itself. 
September  14. — Nearly  all  day  in  mag- 
nificent fir  forest,  the  top  branches  laden 
[  347] 


My  First  Summer 

with  superb  erect  gray  cones  shining  with 
beads  of  pure  balsam.  The  squirrels  are  cut- 
ting them  off  at  a  great  rate.  Bump,  bump, 
I  hear  them  falling,  soon  to  be  gathered 
and  stored  for  winter  bread.  Those  that 
chance  to  be  left  by  the  industrious  har- 
vesters drop  the  scales  and  bracts  when 
fully  ripe,  and  it  is  fine  to  see  the  purple- 
winged  seeds  flying  in  swirling,  merry-look- 
ing flocks  seeking  their  fortunes.  The  bole 
and  dead  limbs  of  nearly  every  tree  in  the 
main  forest-belt  are  ornamented  by  con- 
spicuous tufts  and  strips  of  a  yellow  lichen. 

Camped  for  the  night  at  Cascade  Creek, 
near  the  Mono  Trail  crossing.  Manzanita 
berries  now  ripe.  Cloudiness  to-day  about 
.10.  The  sunset  very  rich,  flaming  purple 
and  crimson  showing  gloriously  through 
the  aisles  of  the  woods. 

September  15.  -  -The  weather  pure  gold, 

cloudiness  about  .05,  white  cirrus  flecks  and 

pencilings  around  the  horizon.   Move  two 

or  three  miles  and  camp  at  Tamarack  Flat. 

[  348  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

Wandering  in  the  woods  here  back  of  the 
pines  which  bound  the  meadows,  I  found 
very  noble  specimens  of  the  magnificent 
silver  fir,  the  tallest  about  two  hundred  and 
forty  feet  high  and  five  feet  in  diameter 
four  feet  from  the  ground. 

September  16. —  Crawled  slowly  four  or 
five  miles  to-day  through  the  glorious  for- 
est to  Crane  Flat,  where  we  are  camped  for 
the  night.  The  forests  we  so  admired  in 
summer  seem  still  more  beautiful  and  sub- 
lime in  this  mellow  autumn  light.  Lovely 
starry  night,  the  tall,  spiring  tree-tops  re- 
lieved in  jet  black  against  the  sky.  I  linger 
by  the  fire,  loath  to  go  to  bed. 

September  17.  —  Left  camp  early.  Ran 
over  the  Tuolumne  divide  and  down  a  few 
miles  to  a  grove  of  sequoias  that  I  had 
heard  of,  directed  by  the  Don.  They  oc- 
cupy an  area  of  perhaps  less  than  a  hun- 
dred acres.  Some  of  the  trees  are  noble, 
colossal  old  giants,  surrounded  by  magnifi- 
cent sugar  pines  and  Douglas  spruces.  The 
[  349  ] 


My  First  Summer 

perfect  specimens  not  burned  or  broken  are 
singularly  regular  and  symmetrical,  though 
not  at  all  conventional,  showing  infinite 
variety  in  general  unity  and  harmony ;  the 
noble  shafts  with  rich  purplish  brown  fluted 
bark,  free  of  limbs  for  one  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  or  so,  ornamented  here  and  there 
with  leafy  rosettes ;  main  branches  of  the 
oldest  trees  very  large,  crooked  and  rugged, 
zigzagging  stiffly  outward  seemingly  lawless, 
yet  unexpectedly  stopping  just  at  the  right 
distance  from  the  trunk  and  dissolving  in 
dense  bossy  masses  of  branchlets,  thus  making 
a  regular  though  greatly  varied  outline,  — 
a  cylinder  of  leafy,  outbulging  spray  masses, 
terminating  in  a  noble  dome,  that  may  be 
recognized  while  yet  far  off  upheaved  against 
the  sky  above  the  dark  bed  of  pines  and  firs 
and  spruces,  the  king  of  all  conifers,  not 
\  only  in  size  but  in  sublime  majesty  of  be- 
havior and  port.  I  found  a  black,  charred 
stump  about  thirty  feet  in  diameter  and 
eighty  or  ninety  feet  high,  -. —  a  venerable, 
[  350] 


In  Tuolumne  Sequoia  Grove 


*2L 


In  the  Sierra 

impressive  old  monument  of  a  tree  that  in 
its  prime  may  have  been  the  monarch  of 
the  grove ;  seedlings  and  saplings  growing 
up  here  and  there,  thrifty  and  hopeful,  giving 
no  hint  of  the  dying  out  of  the  species.  Not 
any  unfavorable  change  of  climate,  but  only 
fire  threatens  the  existence  of  these  noblest 
of  God's  trees.  Sorry  I  was  not  able  to  get  a 
count  of  the  old  monument's  annual  rings. 

Camp  this  evening  at  Hazel  Green,  on 
the  broad  back  of  the  dividing  ridge  near 
our  old  camp-ground  when  we  were  on 
the  way  up  the  mountains  in  the  spring. 
This  ridge  has  the  finest  sugar  pine  groves 
and  finest  manzanita  and  ceanothus  thick- 
ets I  have  yet  found  on  all  this  wonderful 
summer  journey. 

September  i  8.  --  Made  a  long  descent  on 
the  south  side  of  the  divide  to  Brown's 
Flat,  the  grand  forests  now  left  above  us, 
though  the  sugar  pine  still  flourishes  fairly 
well,  and  with  the  yellow  pine,  libocedrus, 
and  Douglas  spruce,  makes  forests  that  would 


My  First  Summer 

be  considered  most  wonderful  in  any  other 
part  of  the  world. 

The  Indians  here,  with  great  concern, 
pointed  to  an  old  garden  patch  on  the  flat 
and  told  us  to  keep  away  from  it.  Perhaps 
some  of  their  tribe  are  buried  here. 

September  1 9.  —  Camped  this  evening  at 
Smith's  Mill,  on  the  first  broad  mountain 
bench  or  plateau  reached  in  ascending  the 
range,  where  pines  grow  large  enough  for 
good  lumber.  Here  wheat,  apples,  peaches, 
and  grapes  grow,  and  we  were  treated  to 
wine  and  apples.  The  wine  I  did  n't  like, 
but  Mr.  Delaney  and  the  Indian  driver  and 
the  shepherd  seemed  to  think  the  stuff  di- 
vine. Compared  to  sparkling  Sierra  water 
fresh  from  the  hqavens,  it  seemed  a  dull, 
muddy,  stupid  drink.  But  the  apples,  best 
of  fruits,  how  delicious  they  were  !  —  fit 
for  gods  or  men. 

On  the  way  down  from  Brown's  Flat  we 
stopped  at  Bower  Cave,  and  I  spent  an  hour 
in  it,  —  one  of  the  most  novel  and  interest- 
[  352  ] 


In  the  Sierra 

ing  of  all  Nature's  underground  mansions. 
Plenty  of  sunlight  pours  into  it  through  the 
leaves  of  the  four  maple  trees  growing  in 
its  mouth,  illuminating  its  clear,  calm  pool 
and  marble  chambers,  —  a  charming  place, 
ravishingly  beautiful,  but  the  accessible  parts 
of  the  walls  sadly  disfigured  with  names  of 
vandals. 

September  20. — The  weather  still  golden 
and  calm,  but  hot.  We  are  now  in  the  foot- 
hills, and  all  the  conifers  are  left  behind 
except  the  gray  Sabine  pine.  Camped  at 
the  Dutch  Boy's  Ranch,  where  there  are 
extensive  barley  fields  now  showing  nothing 
save  dusty  stubble. 

September  2 1 .  -  -  A  terribly  hot,  dusty, 
sun-burned  day,  and  as  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  loitering  where  the  flock  could 
find  nothing  to  eat  save  thorny  twigs  and 
chaparral,  we  made  a  long  drive,  and  be- 
fore sundown  reached  the  home  ranch  on 
the  yellow  San  Joaquin  plain. 

September  22.-  -The  sheep  were  let  out 
[  353  ] 


My  First  Summer 

of  the  corral  one  by  one,  this  morning,  and 
counted,  and  strange  to  say,  after  all  their 
long,  adventurous  wanderings  in  bewilder- 
ing rocks  and  brush  and  streams,  scattered 
by  bears,  poisoned  by  azalea,  kalmia,  alkali, 
all  are  accounted  for.  Of  the  two  thousand 
and  fifty  that  left  the  corral  in  the  spring 
lean  and  weak,  two  thousand  and  twenty- 
five  have  returned  fat  and  strong.  The  losses 
are  :  ten  killed  by  bears,  one  by  a  rattle- 
snake, one  that  had  to  be  killed  after  it  had 
broken  its  leg  on  a  boulder  slope,  and  one 
that  ran  away  in  blind  terror  on  being  acci- 
dentally separated  from  the  flock,  -  -  thir- 
teen all  told.  Of  the  other  twelve  doomed 
never  to  return,  three  were  sold  to  ranch- 
men and  nine  were  made  camp  mutton. 

Here  ends  my  forever  memorable  first 
High  Sierra  excursion.  I  have  crossed  the 
Range  of  Light,  surely  the  brightest  and 
best  of  all  the  Lord  has  built ;  and  rejoicing 
in  its  glory,  I  gladly,  gratefully,  hopefully 
pray  I  may  see  it  again. 


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